


Holiday in Handcuffs

by teacuphuman



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Kidnapping, M/M, Sexual Content, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-03 14:19:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 24,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8717185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: A barista (Arthur) kidnaps a customer (Eames) and forces him to pretend to be his boyfriend over Christmas with his parents.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My annual cheesy holiday fic! This year I used the movie by the same name, starring Melissa Joan Hart (who hasn't lost her charm) and Mario Lopez (whose dimple powers caught me a little off guard). Special thanks to [youcantsaymylastname](http://archiveofourown.org/users/youcantsaymylastname/pseuds/youcantsaymylastname) for looking over this for me! I will be updating this fic daily.

Arthur looks at himself in the mirror and smiles, dimples flashing deep and teeth gleaming.  _ Still got it, _ he thinks. Right, he can do this. He’s going to walk into Peter Browning’s office and charm the pants off him. Well, not literally, because Browning is a friends of his fathers, and Arthur might be desperate, but he isn’t shameless. So, he will figuratively charm the pants off Browning and get the job, thus ending his scrambling for rent money, and his parent’s guilt trips about not having his life together.

  


Arthur’s smile slides into a frown as he notices his hair. He’d had it cut yesterday, but somehow the sleek and sharp trim has transformed into an uneven mop of dark whisps overnight. He runs his fingers through it, trying to artfully manipulate the wayward cowlicks, but only succeeded in making it stand on end. He adds a little of the new pomade the girl at the salon talked him into and slicks it back. He nods at his reflection and goes to find breakfast.

  


He’s eating cold pad thai shirtless over the sink when his phone rings.

  


“Hello, Mother.” He sighs into the phone.

  


“Arthur, you would not believe the mess the Carnegie’s left in the kitchen. Who doesn’t wipe down the counters before leaving? We’re lucky there aren’t rats crawling all over the place.” His mother tells him in clipped tones. “And you know we had to bring half the kitchen with us because you never know what someone else has used and not replaced! We have a system for a reason, Arthur.”

  


“I know, Mom.” Arthur sighs, shoving another mouthful of food into his mouth. His parents share a cabin with three other families in their neighbourhood, and his mother has endless complaints about how the others treat the place. He lets her drone on while he finishes his food.

  


“And you and Robert will be here at six, sharp? He is still coming, isn’t he?”

  


“Yes, Mom, Robert is coming. We will be there as close to six as we can be. I work until four, though, and I might not get out of there on time.” Arthur warns, still unsure about bringing his boyfriend home for the holidays. They’ve been together for a few months, and things are going well, so Arthur figures it’s time to introduce Robert to the horror that is Arthur’s parents.

  


“Well, I guess I won’t have to worry about you being tardy because of your little job after today. Are you ready for your interview? What time is it at?”

  


“Yeah, it’s in an hour so I should go.” Arthur tosses his empty carton in the trash and goes to brush his teeth. He catches sight of his reflection in the bathroom mirror and gapes at his hair in the mirror. It’s shiny. Really, really shiny. He reaches up to touch it, and finds it hard as a rock.

  


“Are you wearing the suit? You should wear the suit.” His mother tells him, unaware of his growing panic. His hair looks and feels like a helmet. He tries to drag a comb through it and only succeeds in breaking off three of the teeth.

  


“Arthur? Are you listening to me?”

  


“Yeah, Mom, sorry. Um, I’m wearing the suit, but it’s really big. I think I should change.” Arthur hates the suit. It’s too big, and a horrid shade of brown, and makes him feel like he’s playing dress up in his father’s clothes.

  


“That suit is very fashionable. You always wear clothes that are too tight, they leave nothing to the imagination. If you were a girl we’d never have let you out of the house as a teenager.” 

  


“Okay, that’s sexist and rude, and I’m going to go.” Arthur tells her, giving up on his hair and readying his toothbrush.

  


“You and your labels. You should be more open minded, dear. Wear the green tie.”

  


Arthur closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, knowing he won’t win the argument if he starts it. “I’m wearing the blue tie,” he says instead.

  


“The green goes better with your eyes. Oh, Arthur, I just know today is going to be a new start for you.” His mother is starting to sound emotional, and he just can’t deal with that right now, so he ignores her and hums around his toothbrush. 

  


His mother goes on and on about how perfect everything is going to be and how happy they are that Arthur is  _ finally _ bringing someone home. Arthur spits into the sink, waiting for what he knows is coming.

  


“I mean, if we had a choice, of course we’d prefer if you brought home a girl, but, well.”

  


“I really have to get dressed, Mom. Don’t want to be late.” He wipes his mouth and pulls his shirt off its hanger.

  


“Oh, your father wants to speak to you!”

  


“No, Mom, I really don’t have time to-”

  


“Arthur.” His Dad’s gruff voice comes on the line.

  


“Hi, Dad.” Arthur pulls on the shirt while trying not to drop the phone.

  


“Now, Arthur, this is an important interview,”

  


“I know, Dad.” Arthur rolls his eyes, like he hasn’t heard this nearly every day since his Dad set up the meeting.

  


“Don’t go in there feeling unqualified. They’ll spot fear and desperation a mile away.”

  


“What did you tell Mr. Browning about me? I don’t exactly have this kind of sales experience.”

  


“Fake it until you make it, son. I told him you’re a late bloomer, but that you’re ready to get your act together, and that you’ll work yourself to the bone for them. Don’t make a liar out of me, Arthur.”

  


“Jesus, Dad, I won’t. But I have no idea what advertising sales even entails. I think they’re going to notice.” Arthur can feel his pulse speeding up. He hates that his parents have the ability to make him doubt himself with so few words.

  


“Mr. Browning’s always liked you, Arthur, just keep you head up and you’ll do fine. Good luck, son.”

  


“Thanks, Dad.” Arthur hangs up and stares at himself in the full-length mirror on this closet door. The suit pants are two inches too long, and the jacket bunches around his shoulders. He has sneaking suspicion the suit was originally purchased for his brother Dom, but it’s all Arthur has right now.

  


He makes it into his car on time, but winds up late to the interview when he lets a car make a left hand turn in front of him in heavy traffic and the car is t-boned by a cab before it can clear the other lane. By the time he gets to Browning’s office, he’s half an hour past his scheduled time and rattled because the rather large douchecanoe in the first car decided it was Arthur’s fault he got hit and tried to pull him through the window of his car.

  


“You’re late.” The receptionist informs him when he arrives, flushed and panting.

  


“I know, and I’m sorry, but I really need to see Mr. Browning. He’s expecting me.”

  


“He was expecting you thirty-three minutes ago. He’s with another candidate now.” She says, pressing a button to answer the phone.

  


“Sorry, excuse me,” Arthur waves his hand in her face to get her attention back. “Hi. My father and Mr. Browning are good friends, and he’ll be upset if he doesn’t get to see me.”

  


She smirks. “I’m sure he’ll survive.” 

  


Arthur’s eyes dart to Browning’s office, then back to the receptionist. 

  


“Don’t even think about it.” She warns him.

  


Arthur licks his lips. If he doesn’t meet with Browning, he’ll have to tell his parents he ruined his opportunity and spend the holiday trying to explain why he doesn’t want to make them happy. Arthur can’t do that. Not with Robert there, hearing and seeing what a constant disappointment Arthur is.

  


Arthur makes a break for it, sprinting across the office to Browning’s door. He knocks on the window, grinning wide when Browning looks up, startled. The other candidate turns in his seat, frowning at the interruption.

  


“Mr. Browning! Hi! It’s Arthur, Richard’s son!” He calls through the glass.

  


Browning shakes his head and presses a button to lower the privacy shade over the window.

  


“No, no, sir! Please, just give me a few minutes,” Arthur bands down, keeping his face visible in the window. “Please, you won’t regret it!” 

  


The blind reaches the bottom of the window and Arthur slumps to the floor, defeated. Shiny black shoes stop in front of him and he looks up, and up at the security guard.

  


“Any chance he’ll forget this happened?” Arthur asks.

  
The guard shakes his head and hauls Arthur to his feet. They don’t even validate his parking before they throw him out the front door.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur ducks his head as he weaves through the crowded coffee shop, studiously avoiding Ariadne’s glare as he sneaks into the back room and drops his stuff off, pulling on an apron as he slides up beside her at the bar.

 

“Where the hell have you been?” she hisses. “I’ve been covering for you, but Yusef is pissed.”

 

“Sorry, I was having my picture taken.” Arthur grabs the next paper cup from the line and sets about preparing the drink. He’s removed his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves to protect them, but he still manages to spray steamed milk all over himself almost immediately.

 

“Really?” Ari brightens. “For an employee i.d.?”

 

“Sadly no, it was for their wall of shame. I am now banned from 1321 Begbie Ave.”

 

“Oh, Arthur, I’m sorry.” Ari says, knocking her shoulder into his.

 

“It’s okay, I wasn’t expecting to get it anyway.” He slides the latte to the waiting customer with a smile.

 

“Yes, you were.” Ari eyes him shrewdly.

 

“Yes, I was. It’s not that I wanted to work there, but it would have been easier to keep my parents off my back.”

 

“Your parents are horrible. Sorry, but they are.” Ari moves around him, pouring espresso shots into a large cup.

 

“They’re not, they just want what’s best for me. I haven’t exactly lived up to their expectations.” Arthur argues lamely.

 

“Fuck their expectations,” Ari declares, making the group of teenage girls waiting for drinks giggle. Ari winks at them. “Here, maybe this will make thing better.”

 

Ari pulls a set of furry, novelty antlers from underneath the counter and pops them on Arthur’s head. He looks into the security mirror in the corner and groans. There are little blinking lights draped over the antlers.

 

“Seriously?” He groans.

 

“Yusuf is really, really into Christmas this year.” Ari smiles.

 

“Yusuf is really, really into holiday profits.” Arthur grumbles, pumping mint flavouring into a cup.

 

“At least they match your suit.” Ari says, unable to keep from laughing.

 

“God, don’t remind me. I shudder to think what Robert is going to say when he sees it. I don’t think he owns anything that isn’t tailored perfectly. At least he’ll be there to distract my parents when I tell them I blew the interview.”

 

“Ugh, I cannot believe you’re taking him home for Christmas.” Ari grouses.

 

“He’s my boyfriend, why wouldn’t I?”

 

“Because you’ve only been dating a few months, Arthur. Are you sure you want to let your parents get attached to him?”

 

“Why, because you don’t think we’ll last much longer?” Arthur asks sharply.

 

“Frankly, yes. I keep hoping you’re going to realize he’s an elitist jackass. I really didn’t think that was your type.”

 

“Well, he’s my parent’s type,” Arthur mutters.

 

“So you’re using him?” Ari asks, sounding hopeful.

 

“No, but my parents are going to love him, so why not use that to my advantage? I have nothing to offer them, Ari. No husband, no kids, no prospects. I just going to throw Robert at their feet and hope they get off my back for a while.” Arthur puts another drink on the counter, aware that half the customers waiting are eavesdropping on their conversation.

 

“But he’s such a dick! Are you going to tell them how you met?”

 

Arthur laughs. “God, no!” He cringes at the thought of telling his sheltered, conservative parents that he met his boyfriend when Robert mistook Arthur for being available by the hour at a bar one night. They’re critical enough of his social life without knowing that, thank you very much.

 

“I just don’t think the size of a guy’s bank account should be the most attractive thing about him.” Ari shrugs.

 

“If that’s why I was with him, I wouldn’t still be working here. And so what if his family has money, what’s wrong with wealth and success for a change?”

 

”It’s easy to be wealthy and successful when you’re born into wealth and handed success, Arthur.”

 

”Can you please try to act nice when he gets here? For me?” Arthur pleads.

 

“Ugh, fine. Is ignoring him nice enough for you?”

 

“I’ll take it.” Arthur grins and turns on the steaming wand.

 

The next three hours fly by in a haze of coffee grinds and milk spray. It’s December 23rd and most of the customers are working against the clock, making them grumpy and impatient. Arthur gets snapped at by most of them about the wait, but they can only do so much at once, and he’s getting really tired of apologizing for something that’s out of his control. Matters aren’t helped when Ari spends five solid minutes at the till flirting with some British guy in a three piece suit. Sure, it helps Arthur clear the bar orders, but the customers behind the guy are not pleased, and they make it known. 

 

Arthur is just starting to catch up again when Ari lets out a disgruntled sigh. Robert is making his way across the shop, looking annoyed at having to wade through the throng of people.

 

“Hey, you’re a bit early. I have another twenty minutes to go until I can leave.”

 

“This is ridiculous, why are you still working here?” Roberts says, holding his jacket away from a sticky-handed toddler in a stroller.

 

“Because I like not being evicted. Do you want a drink?” Arthur smiles tightly.

 

“Jesus, Arthur, what are you wearing?”

 

Arthur feels his face heat up and he grabs another cup from the line. “It was a gift from my parents; they wanted me to wear it today. I’m sorry my clothes aren’t bespoke.”

 

“I meant the antlers, but the pants are hideous, too.  But about the parent thing, I think I’m going to pass on the whole holiday song and dance.” Robert tells him cooly.

 

Arthur freezes, looking at Robert with wide eyes. ”What are you talking about? They’re expecting us.”

 

Robert shrugs, gaze wandering around the room.”Meeting your parents is a whole other level and I just don’t think we’re there yet.”

 

Arthur wipes his hands on his apron. “Right, okay. Funny, that we were at that level when you took me to meet your parents. Who were horrible to me, by the way. Remember that?”

 

”Yeah, they were not impressed,” Robert finally looks at Arthur, giving him a small smile. “Look, sweetheart, it’s just not going to work.”

 

Arthur can feel the panic rising in his chest. He can’t show up without a boyfriend, he just can’t. His parents will eat him alive. He takes a deep breath, trying to stay calm. ”You can’t bail on me now, my parents are expecting you. I need you.”

 

Robert scrunches up his face. ”The whole needy things is kind of a turn off. Not winning you any points.”

 

Arthur stares at him, rage replacing the panic. “Why would you tell me you would come home for the holidays with me if you were never going to do it?”

 

”Because I knew it was what you wanted to hear.” Robert says, like it’s obvious. “Plus, we hadn’t had sex yet, so…”

 

Arthur fights the urge to throw the americano he’s making into Robert’s face.

 

Robert purses his lips, looking away. ”So, I’m gonna go.” 

 

Arthur watches him leave, snapping out of his daze right before Robert gets to the door and shouting over the crowd to be heard. “You walk away now, and we’re over, Robert. That’s it.” 

 

Everyone in the shop goes quiet, turning to watch. Robert screws his eyebrows together and laughs. “Um, yeah.”

 

The crowd’s eyes are like dozens of tiny nails scraping over his skin as they turn back to Arthur.

 

“Arthur?” Ari ventures.

 

“I’m going on break.” Arthur snaps, whipping his apron off and storming into the back room.

 

He slumps against the wall, gasping for air as he slides to the floor. Robert’s gone. He’s not coming for Christmas, and Arthur is going to have to face his parents all alone. Single, and struggling, still a giant fucking disappointment after all this time. He’s contemplating ‘accidentally’ driving off the road on the way to the cabin, when his phone rings. Not enough to damage himself, but enough to stall things for a bit. 

 

The phone rings twice more while Arthur decides he loves his car too much to make it pay for his failures, and he scrambles to answer it before it goes to voicemail. 

 

“I knew it, you haven’t left yet!” His mother admonishes before he can even say hello. 

 

“I told you I work until four, Mom.” Arthur whines, dragging himself to his feet and over to his things. He needs to get out of here, right fucking now. Ari’s going to be pissed, and Yusef will probably fire him, but if he doesn’t get some fresh air he’s going to start screaming.

 

”The entire world can be on time, Arthur, why can’t you? Are you trying to ruin Christmas?”

 

Arthur stumbles to the back door, struggling into his suit jacket and winter coat. He forgot to roll down his sleeves, and his jacket bunches uncomfortably over his arms. He bursts into the alley where his car is parked, startling the man huddling against the cold and smoking a cigarette, cell phone pressed to his ear. The man turns toward Arthur and slips on the ice, going ass over tea kettle, phone flying into the air, and landing hard on his back.

 

Arthur rushes forward, careful not to slip while his mother shrieks in his ear. It’s the British guy Ari was flirting with in the shop.  _ He’s kind of cute when he’s unconscious _ , Arthur thinks, running an appreciative eye over his plush lips and strong jawline. Arthur cocks his head to the side, looking between the stranger and his phone, where his mother’s voice rings out, high and sharp from the speaker.

 

”We’re leaving now,” says into the phone before disconnecting the call.

 

Arthur unlocks his 1963 Valiant and uses the ice patch to drag the man over, hoisting him into the passenger seat. Arthur’s hands are shaking, and he lets out a high-pitched giggle as he strips off his own tie to bind the man’s hands. He uses the guy’s paisley tie to secure the man’s hands to the quarter window panel on the door, then gets behind the wheel. He feels calmer now, more in control.

 

Everything’s going to be fine, he tells himself. He looks over at his unconscious passenger and smiles. What else was he to do? It wouldn’t do to show up empty handed, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur’s humming along to the radio when the Brit comes to. The man jerks in surprise, pulling at his restraints. His eyes slide over to Arthur.

 

“Did Ferretti send you?” He asks flatly.

 

“What? No, I have no idea who that is.” Arthur tells him, eyes flicking between the man and the road. 

 

“Then who are you?”

 

“I’m Arthur, look, I can explain all of this, okay?”

 

The man’s eyebrows rise, but he stays silent.

 

“You slipped on the ice behind the coffee shop, do you remember that? I helped you.”

 

“Mostly. Although, I hardly think restraints are required for a trip to the emergency room. Then there’s the fact that we’ve obviously left the city limits.” The man pulls on his restraints again.

 

“Yeah, that’s where things get a little funny.” Arthur chuckles weakly.

 

“Funny?” The man glares at him.

 

“Okay, maybe strange is a better word. Look, I panicked and put you in the car. I just, I can’t show up without Robert.”

 

“And Robert is?”

 

“My boyfriend.” Arthur bites his lip.

 

“You are aware that I am not Robert, correct?”

 

“Yes, god, I am not explaining this well,” Arthur groans. “Okay, so I’m supposed to be introducing my parents to my boyfriend, Robert. Only Robert isn’t coming now, and I need you to pretend to be him.”

 

The man raises an eyebrow. “And why, pray tell, would I do that?”

 

“Because I’ve kidnapped you. And if you do it, I’ll let you go. It’s just until the 26th, I swear.” Arthur’s shocked at how calm he sounds, even though he knows his demand is unreasonable.

 

“And are you planning on keeping me tied to the car for the entire time? Because eventually you’ll have to let me out, and spry as you are, I  _ will  _ overpower you.”

 

Arthur scoffs. “Unless you slip and knock yourself out again.”

 

“Oi, that doesn’t happen that often.” The man says.

 

”Of course it doesn’t,” Arthur smiles and pulls out his beretta and points it at the man, grimacing. “I could always just shoot you.” 

 

The man’s nostrils flare, but other than that, he remains calm. ”Look, Arthur, you seem like a nice bloke, probably nothing a little lithium couldn’t fix. But darling, come on, you’re not really going to shoot me, and you’re actually keeping me from an important meeting, so if you could just let me out here, all is forgiven.”

 

Arthur shakes his head, frustrated and starting to feel like he’s veered off the path of sanity. “No, listen-”

 

“Look out!” The man shouts, pointing ahead of them where a buck has jumped out of the treeline in front of them.

 

Arthur swerves to the middle of the road to miss the deer. The gun knocks against the steering wheel and Arthur accidentally squeezes the trigger. 

 

The man screams and Arthur slams on the brakes, skidding to a halt in the middle of the road. There’s a small hole in the seat between the man’s legs.

 

“Why the bloody fuck do you have the safety off?” The man roars.

 

“Sorry! Sorry! Shit, I’m sorry!” Arthur puts the safety on and drops the gun in his pocket.

 

The man closes his eyes and takes a couple deep breaths.”Why do you have a gun if you don’t know how to use it?”

 

“I know how to use it, that was an accident! And it was a birthday present.” Arthur admits, cringing at the man’s withering glare.

 

“You are completely insane, are you aware of that, Arthur?” The man asks slowly.

 

“No, I’m not. Look, I’m really sorry about this, but I didn’t have a choice.”

 

“I feel like you probably could have not kidnapped a stranger and threatened him with a gun.”

 

“Well, yeah, okay, the gun was a stupid move, I’ll admit that. But I can’t show up without a boyfriend. I just, I can’t.”

 

The man squints at him. “He threw you over, didn’t he?”

 

“No, he didn’t.” Arthur straightens, remembering they’re stopped in the middle of the road and that’s a really good way to get noticed. He throws the car into drive and gets it back up to speed.

“Oh, ho-ho, yes, he did!” The man laughs, sitting back. “He left you and it’s driven you mad. They’re going to make a tv movie out of you.”

 

“They are not,” Arthur grouses, spying a sign for gas realizing he’s going to have to stop before they get to the cabin.

 

“And what happens when we get there and I tell Mommy and Daddy dearest the truth? That their darling baby boy has committed a felony because he couldn’t handle getting dumped two days before Christmas?”

 

Arthur scoffs, pulling into the station. “They’d never believe I had enough follow-through to conceive and execute that plan.” He leans over and starts going through the man’s pockets. “Besides, I kind of already set the disappointment bar high with the whole gay thing, so this probably won’t shock them. Where is your cell phone?”

 

“I have no idea, probably back in the alley.” The man says. “They don’t approve of your sexuality then?”

 

Arthur laughs and wraps his scarf around the man’s eyes for good measure. “That’s putting it very politely.”

 

Arthur gets out of the car before the man can respond and goes into the store to pay for the gas. He grabs a bottle of vodka and a package of beef jerky and smiles at the old man behind the counter.

 

“Just this and ten dollars worth of gas, please.”

 

The man looks Arthur up and down and smiles, bearing yellowing teeth. “Well, now, look at you.”

 

Arthur’s smile goes tight.

 

“I’ll just come out and pump that gas for you. The pump sticks and I wouldn’t want you to get your hands dirty.” The man closed the cash drawer and comes around the counter.

 

Arthur grabs his bag and hurries to intercept him. “That’s not necessary, I can do it.”

 

“Nonsense,” the old man pushes past him and out the door, coming to a halt when he sees Arthur’s passenger, tied up in the car. “What’s going on here?”

 

“Um, it’s not what it looks like,” Arthur blurts. “That’s, um, my boyfriend. I’m surprising him with special trip away for the holiday.”

 

The old man frowns.

 

“You now, the frisky kind. That’s why he’s tied up.” Arthur’s shoulders slump. He’s so screwed.

 

“You just stay right here, young man,” he says and shuffles back into the store.

 

Arthur hurries to the pump, willing the gas to hurry so he can escape before the old man comes back. There probably aren’t security cameras outside, and he doubt’s the old guy got his license plate.

 

The old man comes bustling out as Arthur puts the nozzle back onto the pump and replaces the gas cap.

 

“Now, just you wait! These are for you!” He thrusts a box into Arthur’s hands. “On the house.”

 

Arthur gapes at the pair of fuzzy, red handcuffs in the window of the box. “Um, thank you?”

 

“You have fun, now! And be safe!”

 

“Thank you.” Arthur laughs in shock and climbs back in the car. 

 

“What’s going on?” the Brit asks.

 

“Well, this kidnapping just got a little more professional,” Arthur tugs the scarf off his eyes and snaps on the cuffs. “Any a little more fun.”

 

The man frowns at Arthur as he cuts through the ties with his pocket knife. “I bet you think this is funny, don’t you? I liked that tie.”

 

“It was a nice tie,” Arthur agrees, starting the car.

 

They drive for a few minutes in silence while Arthur opens the jerky. He hasn’t eaten since that morning and he’s starving. Who knew kidnapping worked up such an appetite?

 

“Look, I’m really sorry about all of this. It’s not like I set out this morning to kidnap someone. What is your name, anyway?” Arthur pops some jerky into his mouth and chews.

 

“Did you set out to almost shoot someone?” the man glares. “And it’s Eames.”

 

“Eames, right. Jerky?” Arthur shoves a piece into Eames’ mouth. “We should probably share some important facts about each other. I mean, if we’re boyfriends, we should know things about each other, right?”

 

“I haven’t agreed to anything.” Eames reminds him around a mouthful of jerky.

 

“Let me guess, you’re from old money right? Oxford educated, probably a hedge fund manager  or something at some fancy brokerage, dating the boss’ kid, with a handicap of 14.”

 

Eames glares at him across the front seat. “That’s what it says on the tin. But I’m a 10 handicap, I’ll have you know.”

 

Arthur snorts. “That’s great for you. Well, I think it’s safe to say I’ve lost my job at the coffee shop. I live in a drafty loft downtown, not the gentrified part, and I don’t golf. That pretty much sums it up!”

 

Eames watches him silently as Arthur chews his jerky with more aggression than it deserves.

 

“You have a poker chip and a red die on you keyring.” Eames says conversationally.

 

“And?”

 

“Tell me about them.” Eames prompts.

 

“My older brother took me to Vegas for my twenty-first birthday. It was the same year he graduated business school, so we were celebrating. You know, I think that trip was the last time I had fun. Since then, well. There are expectations, you know?”

 

Eames hums.

 

“I should probably mention that my parents are fairly conservative. I mean, they voted for Reagan and both Bushes, so. They weren’t exactly thrilled when their baby boy grew up to be an underachieving gay liberal.”

 

“I can imagine,” Eames purses his lips. “So what’s in it for me if I play along?”

 

Arthur glances at him quickly, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “What do you want? I mean, I don’t have much, but it’s yours.”

 

“I want your car, Arthur.”

 

Arthur stills. He loves his car. He worked half his life saving for it, and he cherishes it. But if it’s between being arrested for a felony and giving it up, he’ll learn to love taking the bus.

 

He nods jerkily. “Okay, the car for pretending to be my boyfriend. And you won’t tell anyone I kidnapped you?”

 

“And nearly shot me, you keep leaving that part out. But no, I won’t tell anyone, and I will play along until you return me to the city.”

 

“Okay,” Arthur holds his hand out and Eames shakes it, awkward with the handcuffs.

 

“Got anymore jerky?”


	4. Chapter 4

When they arrive at the cabin, Eames gives him an unimpressed glare. “You know, you throw some awfully big stones for someone with an ice palace.”

 

“It’s not that big. And we share ownership with three other families. One of our neighbours is a realtor and arranged the sale when the previous owner defaulted on their loan. My parents could never afford something like this on their own, but it offers them the illusion of wealth.” Arthur says bitterly.

 

Eames hums. “Keeping up with the Joneses, are they?”

 

“Something like that. I mean, my dad’s a lawyer, but that doesn’t pay like it used to. Especially with three kids to put through college.”

 

“You know, some people put themselves through school.”

 

“What was that you were saying about throwing stones?” Arthur arches an eyebrow. “Believe me, paying my own way would have been easier. Now I get to hear how I wasted their money for the rest of my life. Stay in the car, I’ll be right back.” Arthur shuts the door on Eames’ response and grabs his suitcase from the trunk.

 

He ignores Eames tapping pointedly on the window with the handcuffs, and braces himself. 

 

“Hello?” He calls, when he opens the door. 

 

“Arthur, you’re here!” His mother calls, coming in from the kitchen.

 

“You said six, I’m here for six.” He reminds her.

 

“Is Arthur here already? You beat Dom and Rachel.” His father says, appearing at the top of the stairs.

 

“They’re not here yet? What happened to six o’clock or you’ll ruin Christmas?” He demands.

 

His mother waves her hand and pulls him into a hug. “I knew you’d be late, so I told you an hour early, it’s no big deal.”

 

Arthur pulls away. “Yeah, but I’m here on time.”

 

“Wonders never cease.” His father smiles and gives him a one-armed hug.

 

“Arthur, what happened to your suit? It’s all wrinkled! And why is your hair crusty?” His mother reaches past his peacoat to tug at his jacket, like that’s going to make him more presentable.

 

“I had to work, then I sat in the car for two hours. I’m not exactly fresh from the dry cleaner anymore. Please stop touching my hair.”

 

“You’re supposed to take off your jacket in the car, son.” His father tells him.

 

“That’s only possible if your car has a working heater, mine is on strike.” 

 

“Arthur, what the hell happened with the interview? Browning said you didn’t even bother showing up.” His father says in a disapproving tone.

 

“I went, I was just late,” Arthur says, thankful Mr. Browning left out the details. “There was an accident and I got stuck in traffic.” 

 

“You have to plan for these things, Arthur. I went to the trouble of arranging that meeting for you, and you’ve made me look the fool.”

 

“Nevermind all that,” his mother breaks in. “Where’s Robert?”

 

“He’s in the car. Look, he’s really nervous to meet everyone, and he might seem a little strange because of it, so can you please go easy on him?”

 

“Well he’d have to be a little strange to date you, wouldn’t he?” His father chuckles and claps him on the shoulder

 

Arthur winces. “Just don’t interrogate him, okay?”

 

“Oh, Arthur, you always think so poorly of us.” His mother pouts.

 

Arthur rolls his eyes and goes out to the car. He makes sure to close the door firmly behind him so his parents can’t overhear them. Arthur opens the passenger side door, but Eames just sits there.

 

“Are you coming?”

 

Eames sniffs and tosses his head. “No.”

 

“Excuse me?” Arthur demands.

 

“I’m going to need one more thing for all the trouble I’m about to go to for you.”

 

Arthur takes a deep breath and flexes his fingers on the door. “And that is?”

 

“I need to make a phone call.”

 

“Absolutely not. You’ll call the cops or something.”

 

Eames looks up at him. “Arthur, I swear to you that I will not call the authorities. But you stole me away from a very important meeting, and I need to explain my absence.”

 

“Tough. We have a deal and it doesn’t include a phone call. And there are no phone allowed inside, either. My mother is a freak for quality family time.”

 

“Arthur-”

 

“You come in now, or you can stay out here and freeze, it’s your choice.” Arthur snaps, crossing his arms.

 

Eames breathes out noisily through his nose and glares. “Fine.”

 

“Fine. Good.” Arthur leans in to unlock the handcuffs, but Eames surprises him by twisting his wrists and tossing the cuffs at him.

 

“It would serve you well not to underestimate me, darling.” Eames winks and pushes out of the car, shoving Arthur out of the way. “Now, let’s go meet the parents.”

 

Arthur’s mother is practically vibrating by the time he gets Eames into the house. She hugs him tightly, and a little longer than is polite, before passing Eames to her husband.

 

“We’re so pleased you’re here, Robert. Arthur’s never brought anyone home before. You’d almost think he was ashamed of us.” His mother laughs.

 

Arthur resists groaning.

 

“We were beginning to think he was only pretending to be gay, just to be difficult.” His father tells Eames conspiratorially. 

 

Eames laughs loudly and throws an arm around Arthur’s shoulders. “Well, he’s quite convincing when we’re alone!”

 

Arthur is horrified, but his parents just laugh at Eames’ comment.

 

“Arthur, you didn’t tell us Robert is British.” His mother admonishes.

 

“Is he? I just thought he had a lisp.” Arthur deadpans.

 

“Now darling, you know my mouth works just fine.” Eames says and winks at him.

 

His parents are laughing again, and Arthur’s starting to think Eames must be magic, because Arthur’s parents wouldn’t even let him take a boy to prom and here they are, charmed by Eames alluding to their (fake) sex life. 

 

“But really, Katherine, Richard, I must insist that you call me Eames. All my friends do.” Eames give them a rakish grin.

 

“Oh, Eames, like the chair!” Arthur’s mother coos.

 

“Exactly! And like the chair, I’m quite comfy to sit on.”

 

“I need eggnog.” Arthur says loudly. “Mom, let’s go get some eggnog.”

 

He drags his mother into the kitchen and hopes Eames has the good sense to behave while along with his father. 

 

“Hey, I was wondering if I can be keymaster this year.” Arthur asks, snagging a cookie from the plate on the counter. He doesn’t really trust Eames not to flee, and he has a better chance of thwarting that if he’s the one in charge of hiding all the phones and car keys.

 

His mother looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “Are you serious? You usually hate giving up your phone for the holidays.”

 

Arthur sighs dramatically. ”Yes, the idea of being forcibly trapped for the holidays used to bother me, but I’m seeing it from the other side now, I guess. With Eames here, I want all my attention on him.”

 

“Oh, Arthur, that’s sweet. But are you sure you can handle Grandma? You know how she is, and that’s before she dips into the eggnog.”

 

”She’s 80 years old.” Arthur scoffs and takes another cookie.

 

”Yes, but she’s freakishly strong.” His mother says with a frown.

 

”Mom, I can handle it.”

 

”Alright, but I’m trusting you, Arthur.” She opens the freezer side of the fridge and digs a baggy of keys and electronics out of the back.

 

“You made Dad give you his fitbit?” 

 

“Rules are rules, dear.” She tells him seriously.

 

There’s a commotion at the door, and Arthur hears his father call out to his brother and sister. His mother pours the eggnog and slaps Arthur’s hand away from more cookies, handing him the tray of drinks instead.

 

Arthur’s father is making introductions between Arthur’s siblings and Eames when they arrive. 

 

Arthur gives Dom and Rachel both a hug, careful not to spill the eggnog, and moves to stand beside Eames, who seems delighted at the chaos of Arthur’s family.

 

“Dom, where’s Jennifer?” His mother asks, disappointment clear in her voice.

 

“Mom, I told you two weeks ago that Jenn had to stay in the city for work. I’m lucky I could get away.” Dom explains patiently.

 

“Oh,” his mother frowns. “You work too hard, dear. Come, let’s take our drinks into the living room.”

 

Once the eggnog is gone, and Arthur’s parents have pried every ounce of information out of their children that they can, his mother leads Arthur and Eames upstairs to show them where they’ll be sleeping.

 

“Eames, you’re in here,” she says, opening the door to one of the larger guest rooms. “And Arthur, you’re down-”

 

“No,” Arthur cuts in. “Mom, I’m a twenty-seven year old man, and I will be sharing a room with my boyfriend.” It’s something he had planned on insisting on when he thought it would be him and Robert sharing a room, but he finds he can’t afford not to demand it now that it’s Eames instead. He’s an adult, in an adult (fake) relationship, and that deserves the same respect as any heterosexual relationship.

 

His mother gives him a flat look, clearly unimpressed, but Eames’ eyebrows are raised and he looks highly amused.

 

“Fine.” His mother says, and moves them down the hall.

 

Eames whistles through his teeth once she’s gone and Arthur’s shut the door. “Well, this will be interesting.”

 

“Shut up, if we were really together, we would expect to be sleeping in the same room.” Arthur pouts, unzipping his suitcase.

 

“We would, indeed. I’m proud of you for sticking to your guns, darling.”

 

Arthur glares at him and shoves his clothes into a drawer.

  
Eames grins brightly and rubs his hands together. “I call top bunk!”


	5. Chapter 5

After a cramped night spent in a bright pink bunk bed, listening to Eames snore, Arthur is ready to start day drinking. He’s pretty sure it’s the only way he’s going to survive the weekend, and he’s headed to the kitchen to lace his coffee with courage when his phone starts ringing. He hurries out the front door, pulling it from its hiding place in his sock. 

 

“Hello?” He hisses.

 

“Arthur?” Ari asks, voice staticky in the poor reception. “Where the hell did you go yesterday? After Robert left you just disappeared! Yusuf was spitting nails, man.”

 

“I’m sorry, Ari, I kind of snapped after that. I had to get out of there.” Arthur looks around to make sure no one is around. “I may have done something stupid.”

 

“Stupid how? Stupid ‘I spent my rent money on cheetos, or stupid ‘I hit someone with my car and drove away’?”

 

“A little bit of both. I kidnapped a customer and I'm forcing him to pretend to be my boyfriend so I don’t have to tell my parents Robert dumped me.”

 

Arthur has to pull the phone away from his ear when Ari starts laughing. 

 

“Ari, it’s not funny!”

 

“Oh my god, Arthur! Are you serious?” She asks between fits of giggles.

 

“What am I going to do?”

 

“Well, is he doing it?” 

 

“Um, yeah, but he’s making me give him my car in exchange.” Arthur says.

 

“Wow, that’s a big deal, you love that car.” Ari says, sobering.

 

“I know, but I just couldn’t face them after missing the interview. Showing up alone would have proved them right about everything they say about me.”

 

“No, Arthur, it wouldn’t have. You’re parents are assholes, and you’re amazing. Just because your happiness doesn’t look like they think it should doesn’t make it wrong. Now, I love you, and I don’t want you to go to prison, so maybe you should just let this poor man go.”

 

“Honestly, I don’t know if he’d leave if I let him. He seems to be really enjoying my insane life.” Arthur muses.

 

“He sounds perfect then!” Ari laughs.

 

“He certainly thinks he is. Listen, I’m not supposed to have my phone and I gotta run. Have a good Christmas, I love you.”

 

“Stay sane, Arthur. Love you, too!” 

 

Arthur puts the phone back in his sock and goes into the house, finding his mother and Eames chatting at the island as she prepares brunch.

 

“Eames was just telling me how he forgot his suitcase in his excitement to meet us.” His mother tells him.

 

“Uh, right. I forgot about that.” Arthur stammers.

 

“I’m sure Dad has a thing or two that will fit him. It’s not like he’d fit into your clothes with all those muscles!” She giggles when Eames holds up his arm for her to squeeze.

 

“Katherine, I was wondering if I might use the phone. I need to check in with my office,” Eames asks pleasantly, staring at Arthur.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear, but there are no phones on holidays. The house doesn’t have a landline and the keymaster’s hidden all the others.” 

 

“But, Arthur has a phone.” Eames tells her, faking confusion.

 

“I do not.” Arthur denies.

 

“Yes, you do. I saw you speaking on it outside.” Eames smiles.

 

“Arthur!” His mother scolds.

 

“It’s in his sock.” Eames adds, helpfully.

 

“Arthur Percival Bottoms, you put that phone away right this instant!” His mother demands and stalks out.

 

“Thanks for that, asshole.” Arthur grouses, fishing the phone out.

 

“Wait. No, backup. Your last name is Bottoms? As in ‘Arthur Bottoms’?” Eames says gleefully.

 

“If you know what’s good for you, you will shut you mouth, right the fuck now.” Arthur points at Eames, who is giggling helplessly on his stool.

 

“Oh my god! You’re Dad’s name is Richard! Dick Bottoms!” Eames bursts into another peal of laughter. “And you’re gay! It’s too perfect!”

 

“Fuck you.” Arthur spits, his face flushed with embarrassment. 

 

Eames sobers, schooling his face into seriousness. “I’m sorry, darling, I shouldn’t tease. If you knew my full name, you’d have a go at me, too, believe me. Now, give me that phone.”

 

“What? No. Mom said no phones.” Arthur sticks his tongue out when Eames holds out his hand for the phone.

 

“Arthur, I need to make a phone call. Two minutes, that’s all I need.” Eames stands up.

 

Arthur steps further away. “I said no. I don’t trust you not to call the police.”

 

“I don’t even know where we are, what am I going to tell them?” Eames steps around the island, sending Arthur scurrying to the other end. “I said I’d see this through, and I will.”

 

“You know our names, it wouldn’t be hard to find the title for the property with that. No phone for you.” 

 

Eames takes a few quick steps, putting himself across the island from Arthur. “Give me the fucking phone.”

 

“No.” Arthur sneers, yelping when Eames jumps over the counter and pins him against the fridge.

 

Eames’ body is pressed all along his, and for a second Arthur’s distracted by the heat of the man. But then Eames is trying to pry the phone out of his hand and he’s jolted into fighting back.

 

“Stop fighting me!” Eames grunts.

 

“Never,” Arthur gets his fingers under Eames’ arm and wiggles them. Eames lets out a squeal and Arthur takes the opportunity to throw his phone into the sink full of dishwater.

 

“You little shite!” Eames says, pinning Arthur flat. “You could have made this easy on yourself.”

 

“I’ve often been told I don’t make anything easy.” Arthur wheezes, his face tucked in alongside Eames’ neck.

 

Eames chuckles and it sends vibrations all through Arthur’s body. “I don’t doubt it.”

 

His breath ghosts across the back of Arthur’s neck, making him shiver. Eames stills, his hand sliding slowly up Arthur’s side, underneath his shirt. Arthur sucks in a sharp breath, his lips brushing over Eames’ pulse point. 

 

He’s riled up from the chase around the kitchen, and a little worried Eames is going to notice how Arthur’s lower half is responding to being caged in by Eames’ bulk. Fingers trail over his ribs, tickling him, and Arthur arches forward.

 

“Arthur?” Eames whispers in his ear.

 

“Well, I found a few things, but they’re not very stylish, I’m afraid.” Arthur’s mother announces, coming back in.

 

Arthur shoves Eames away and flees in the other direction, cutting through the living room and bounding up the stairs to their room. He locks himself in the ensuite bathroom and splashes cold water on his face.  _ What the fuck was that? _ he asks his reflection. Damn Eames, if he’d just let the phone thing go, Arthur wouldn’t be willing down an erection right now.  _ And if you hadn’t kidnapped him at gunpoint, none of this would be an issue, _ his mind supplies.

 

Arthur pats his face dry and makes his way back downstairs for brunch. Dom, Rachel, and his dad are already seated in the breakfast nook while his mother brings food to the table. Arthur goes to help, freezing when Katherine grips his wrist tight enough to make him wince.

 

“I’m happy that you’ve found someone, Arthur, but I would appreciate it if you didn’t flaunt your relationship around the house. You brought him home, there’s hardly a reason to shove it further in our faces.”

 

She releases him and goes to fill the carafe. Arthur picks up the basket of croissants he’d been reaching for, noticing his hand is shaking. His mother obviously saw him and Eames in what she assumed was a loving embrace, and it upset her.  _ Perfect _ , he thinks.  _ Even my fake relationships are enough to ruin Christmas. _

 

Eames comes in a few minutes later, dressed in green plaid golf pants and an orange polo that’s a size too small.

 

“Reaganomics!” Dom laughs, fist bumping Eames’ across the table.

 

“You look ridiculous.” Arthur tells him, but his hearts not in it.

 

Eames grins, flexing his arm in Arthur’s face. “Darling, I look good in everything.”

 

The truth is, Arthur can’t say he disagrees. The pattern of the pants is terrible, but they’re form fitting and hug Eames’ ass and thighs obscenely. His arms are straining the sleeves of the shirt, and tattoos peek out from the cuffs and collar, where he’s left the buttons undone. On the whole, Arthur wants to drag him upstairs and map Eames’ body with his tongue.

 

“Dammit!” His mother says, stealing his attention away, and for a moment Arthur thinks she’s notices his ogling and is going to reprimand him in front of everyone.

 

His father rolls his eyes. “What’s wrong, dear?” 

 

“I forgot olive oil. How is that even possible? See, Arthur, this is what I was saying about people not following the system! No one replaces anything in this house!”

 

“Katherine, calm down, it’s not the end of the world.” His father says.

 

“Of course you can say that, you don’t do any of the cooking. You have no idea what goes into preparing a gourmet meal for six people. You’re just going to sit there and eat it, then get up and walk away. Don’t tell me to calm down, Richard, when you have no appreciation for the problem!”

 

Arthur stares at her with wide eyes. Across the table, Dom and Rachel are concentrating on their plates, and his father is gaping at his mother’s outburst. He’s about to intervene when Eames clears his throat.

 

“Katherine, I would be more than happy to run to the store and pick up some olive oil for you. Really, it’s no trouble.” He offers, and he sounds sincere, but Arthur can practically see the wheels turning in his head.

 

“It’s really far, and you’re a guest,” Arthur argues. “I’ll go get it.”

 

“Arthur’s right, I can’t ask that of you, Eames.” Katherine gives him a tired smile.

 

“I insist. You’ve all been so lovely to me; it’s the least I can do.” Eames gets up and hugs Arthur’s mom. “I just need the keys.”

 

“No,” his dad says, getting to his feet. “You’re mom is right. I’m sorry for being callus, dear. I will go to the store.”

 

“I’ll go with you, then! It will be a bonding experience.” Eames says.

 

Dom snorts, and Arthur kicks him under the table.

 

“Oh, that sounds lovely” His mom says.

 

“I’ll go, too!” Arthur blurts.

 

“I’m sure you can live without Eames for an hour, Arthur. Now, go get me the keys, Keymaster.” His father tells him, going to fetch his coat.

 

Arthur’s a wreck the whole time his father and Eames are gone. They finish brunch in silence, and Dom disappears the moment he’s done eating, leaving Arthur to the whims of his mother and sister.

 

Arthur takes a shower and washes the gunk out of his hair so Rachel can even out his hack job haircut, then perches on a kitchen stool while their mother pours them wine.

 

“I gotta say, Arthur, you sounded a little desperate wanting to tag along with Dad and Eames.” Rachel tells him.

 

“I’m not desperate,” he mumbles.

 

“Have you met anyone special at school, Rachel? Anyone we should know about?” His mother asks, failing terribly at nonchalance.

 

“I’ve been seeing a few guys, no one serious, though.”

 

“A few? Rachel!” His mother takes a large gulp of wine.

 

“Relax, I’m not sleeping with all of them.” He can practically hear his sister roll her eyes behind him. “What I want to know is how Arthur met Eames.”

 

He snorts at Rachel’s quick subject change. “I met him at the coffee shop, actually. He was a customer, and a terrible flirt.” Arthur tells them, remembering Ari’s giggling when Eames first came in.

 

“I have to say I’m surprised you two are together,” his mother says, pouring herself another glass. “Eames is so successful and handsome. What do you even have in common?”

 

“Mom!” Rachel scolds.

 

The front door opens and Arthur’s father walks in, glowering. He looks at the three of them in the kitchen, then kicks off his boots and stomps upstairs. Arthur exchanges looks with his mother and Rachel.

 

Eames strolls through the open door, taking his time to hang up his jacket and arrange his shoes on the rack. He nods to them and presents the bottle of olive oil to his mother with a flourish. He grabs a bottle of wine from the rack on his way out of the kitchen, and Arthur can barely sit still while Rachel finishes his hair so he can go after Eames.

 

He's is laying on the bottom bunk in their room when Arthur finds him. He’s almost halfway through the bottle already, and Arthur holds his hand out for it, taking a long swig and wiping the back of his hand over his mouth when he’s done. Eames’ eyes follow his movements closely, lifting his legs so Arthur can join him on the bed. 

 

“What happened?” Arthur asks, allowing Eames to settle his legs across his lap.

 

“I’m afraid I’m no longer your father’s favourite, my dear.”

 

Arthur snorts, handing over the bottle. “Welcome to the club, we have weekly meetings. What did he say to you?”

 

“Oh, nothing direct,” Eames waves the bottle around, then sits up a little more to take a drink. “He was going on and on about Dom and Rachel’s many accomplishments, which is fine, he’s proud, I get it. But the way his voice changed when he talked about you.” Eames pauses, taking a long pull from the bottle. 

 

Arthur plucks at the hem of Eames’ pant leg, nodding in understanding.

 

“I may not know you very well, Arthur, but I can already see that you are better than all of them.”

 

“Than Dom and Rachel? You’ll never convince any of them of that.” Arthur reaches for the bottle, but Eames holds it out of reach, forcing Arthur to meet his gaze.

 

“You are. As far as I can tell, you’re the only honest one of the bunch. The rest of them are so wound up in what they think they’re supposed to be doing, they can’t see it’s making them miserable. That’s no way to live, darling.”

 

“I’m honest? The one with the fake boyfriend I kidnapped?” Arthur says, sardonically.

 

“At gunpoint,” Eames reminds him. “And yes, you’re honest. You know who you are, even if you don’t always like that person.”

 

Arthur looks away, cheeks flushing. “So what did you tell him?”

 

A smile plays on Eames’ lips as he hands the bottle over. “He asked what the difference is between extra virgin and regular olive oil is. I told him I didn’t know, but both come in handy when we run out of lube.”

 

Arthur barks out a laugh and almost drops the bottle. Eames rescues it, grinning while he drinks deeply. Arthur stares at him wonder, gleefully horrified at having Eames in his life.


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur’s grandmother, Caroline, arrives before dinner, complaining about the snow and cursing them all for dragging her out of the city.

 

“Merry Christmas, Grandma!” Rachel says, going in for a hug.

 

“Don’t call me that,” Caroline scolds, patting Rachel on the head and turning away.

 

They gather in the living room, where Dom and Rachel have been working on a jigsaw puzzle on the coffee table. 

 

“Arthur, dear, there is no drink in my hand.” His grandmother informs him.

 

“Right, sorry,” he smirks at Eames on his way to the kitchen and coming back with a gin martini.

 

“There’s my boy! He’s my favourite, you know.” Caroline tells Eames, patting the spot beside her.

 

“Mine, too.” Eames tells her, sending Arthur a wink and moving to sit down. Eames pauses, shock on his face when his pants tear loudly.

 

“That did not just happen.” Rachel laughs.

 

Eames stands up, twisting to examine the seat of his trousers.

 

“Mm, just like Paul Newman,” Caroline says, running a hand up Eames’ thigh. “A nice, firm-”

 

“Grandma!” Arthur scolds.

 

“Mother, honestly.” Katherine drops her head into her hands.

 

Dom climbs to his feet. “Come on, Eames, I think I have something that will fit you.”

 

“I didn’t like those pants anyway.” Richard tells them as Dom and Eames disappear up the stairs.

 

Arthur gets distracted listening to his grandmother’s story of the ‘friend’ she met on her latest cruise. Mostly, he watches his mother’s dramatic reactions when Caroline describes the man’s ‘attributes’ and how skilled he was at using his hands.

 

Dom comes back downstairs, but then Eames doesn’t return, he leans over to ask Dom if he was able to find clothes for Eames after all.

 

“Yeah, he said he had to make a phone call.” Dom says, distracted by the puzzle. 

 

“What? There are no phones, Dom,” Arthur hisses so his mother doesn’t hear. “How is he making a phone call with no phone?”

 

Dom gives him a chagrined look. “I let him use mine. The one I gave you was a decoy.”

 

“For fuck’s sake, Dom!” Arthur stands and runs up the stairs. 

 

The door to their ensuite is locked, but Arthur can hear Eames’ voice, soft and low through it. He presses his ear to the glass panel, trying to decipher what’s being said, but before he can catch anything, the door opens and he stumbles headfirst into Eames’ broad chest.

 

“Who were you talking to?” Arthur demands.

 

Eames hands him the phone, grinning. “That’s none of your business, darling, but you can rest assured it wasn’t the police.”

 

“Why should I believe you?”

 

“I’ve been a good sport about all of this, don’t you think, Arthur? Haven’t I earned a little of your trust?”

 

Arthur sighs. “I’m sorry I have an aversion to going to prison.”

 

“Then you shouldn’t go around kidnapping people and waving guns in their face.” Eames tells him flatly.

 

“You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

 

Eames laughs. “Never. Now, let’s get back so I can bask in the subtle disapproval of your charming parents.”

 

Arthur follows him downstairs to find that Dom and Rachel have gone for a walk, and Caroline is taking a nap.

 

“Ten bucks says she’s passed out until morning.” Arthur whispers to Eames, drawing a laugh from the other man.

 

Arthur’s mother has pulled out the boxes of handmade ornaments, which explains why everyone else has suddenly disappeared, and ropes Arthur and Eames into helping. 

 

“So what do you do for a living, Eames?” Arthur’s father asks, watching them work.

 

“I’m a hedge fund manager with Proclus Global Financials.” Eames tells him, glaring at Arthur’s smug smile.

 

“Oh, wow, that’s an impressive company. My firm helped them when they acquired Fischer-Morrow a few years back.” 

 

“That was before my time, I’m afraid. I’ve only been with the company since last year.” Eames gives him a tight smile Arthur can’t interpret.

 

“We thought Arthur, with all his ‘causes’, might go to law school, like Rachel has.” Richard says.

 

“Being a Democrat isn’t a cause, Dad.” Arthur huffs.

 

“Instead, he got his degree in Liberal Arts,”

 

“Fine Arts,” Arthur corrects.

 

”I don’t even know what that means.” Richard laughs.

 

“Isn’t it an expensive way to say ‘Do you want fries with that’?” Katherine cackles.

 

Arthur turns away, his face burning with shame, and his body taut with tension.

 

“This ornament is adorable.” Eames cuts through the laughter.

 

“Oh, Arthur made that when he was five,” Katherine takes it from him and hangs it on the tree. “He was withdrawn as a child. Dom and Rachel always had so many friends, but Arthur’s always been...anti social.”   

 

“You know, we once paid a little boy down the street to be his friend, and the kid gave us our money back!” Richard tells him.

 

”Really?” Eames asks, his voice hard and flat, startling Arthur into turning around. “I’ve found Arthur to be quite outgoing since I’ve known him. Not afraid to reach out and take what he wants. No matter the obstacles.”

 

”Is that how he snagged you?” Richard asks, no longer laughing.

 

”It is indeed. He walked up to me and said, ‘You’re coming home with me.’ How could I say no?” Eames smiles at him and Arthur ducks his head.

 

”Oh, Arthur, I know you have to be gay, but do you have to be shameless as well?” Katherine says, exasperated.

 

”Let’s put up the angel.” Arthur chokes out, stepping onto the ladder they set up.

 

Katherine claps her hands. ”Oh, I know, why don’t we let Eames do it this year?” 

 

”But I always do it,” Arthur says, already halfway up the ladder. “I’ve done it since I was four. It’s the only thing you let me do. It’s tradition.”

 

”Oh, Arthur, don’t be so selfish.” Katherine scoffs.

 

”What’s wrong with starting a new tradition? You wanted Eames to fit in, right?” Richard chimes in.

 

”Fit in, not replace me.” Arthur mumbles, handing Eames the angel and stepping down.

 

Eames brushes a chaste kiss over Arthur’s temple as he passes. “Now darling, try not to oogle my arse too badly while I’m on the ladder. I know it’s hard, but your parents are present.”

 

His mother huffs in annoyance and his father squirms in his seat and looks away. Arthur mouths ‘thank you’ to Eames, who grins brightly and sets the angel crookedly at the top of the tree.


	7. Chapter 7

After dinner, they settle around the tree with coffee and pie.

 

Caroline pats Eames on the thigh, leaving her hand high on his leg. “Did you know that in the Adirondacks, I started a revival of Medea? I was on Broadway, you know.”

 

”Yes, mother, we know that.” Katherine says loudly.

 

”You don’t have to shout dear, I’m old, not deaf.”

 

”You know I took my turn upon the stage in my youth.” Eames tells her.

 

”Did you now?” Asks Caroline, delighted.

 

“I didn’t know that.” Arthur says, and really, why would he? But it’s an interesting glimpse into Eames’ life, and he adds it to what he already know, which is admittedly little.

 

“Well, I have to save some of my secrets or you’ll grow bored and cast me aside, darling.” Eames gives him a small smile.

 

“Eames, would you like another piece of pie?” Katherine asks.

 

”I think I’ve still got an inch’s worth of room in my waistband, why not?” 

 

Katherine takes his plate and hands it to Arthur. “Arthur, go get Eames another slice of pie.”

 

Arthur looks at the plate and frowns. ”He’s got two arms and legs, he can get his own pie.”

 

”Arthur, don’t be so rude,” Katherine chides. “Are you trying to ruin Christmas? Honestly, Eames, I don’t know how you put up with him.”

 

”Arthur’s quite right, I can get my own pie. Perhaps you’ll join me in the kitchen, darling?” Eames stands and offers Arthur his hand.

 

”Fine.” Arthur snaps, letting Eames pull him to his feet.

 

”Are you alright? Eames asks once they’re in the kitchen.

 

Arthur cuts another slice of apple pie and shoves it across the counter at Eames. ”I’m fine. Here’s your damn pie.”

 

”I don’t care about the pie, Arthur. I know they’re harsh, but they like me. That’s what you wanted, right?” Eames grabs him by the shoulders.

 

”Yeah, of course, but.” Arthur shakes his head.

 

”But what, darling?” Eames pulls him closer, rubbing his hands over Arthur’s back.

 

”They like you more than they like me! I’m their son and they’re supposed to love me, aren’t they?” Arthur grouses into Eames’ shoulder.

 

”Arthur, they do love you. They just don’t know you.”

 

”That’s not my fault,” Arthur pulls away. “I’ve tried to let them in, Eames, I have. They don’t want to know the real me. They want the toned down version of Arthur who doesn’t cause them trouble and doesn’t bring guys home for Christmas.”

 

”Other than a moment here and there, they haven’t been outwardly hostile to me.” Eames tries.

 

”That’s because they think you’re too good for me,” Arthur spits. “They don’t think we can last, so they have no reason to think they’ll ever see you again. What am I saying? Of course they won’t see you again, you’re not actually my boyfriend.”

 

Eames looks surprised and takes a small step back. ”But someday, you will bring someone home.”

 

”No,” Arthur muses bitterly. “I don’t think I will.” 

 

“Arthur-” Eames starts, reaching for him again.

 

“We should get back. God knows what they think we’re doing in here.”

 

Eames follows him out, pie in hand. He pulls Arthur over to the couch and sits him beside Caroline, Eames squishing into the space between Arthur and the arm of the couch. Eames drapes his arm over Arthur’s shoulder, balancing his pie plate on his knee and eating it one handed. He even tries feeding a forkful to Arthur, laughing when Arthur refuses and wrinkles his nose. 

 

Dom starts reading The Night Before Christmas, and Eames puts his plate on the coffee table, wrapping both arms around Arthur and brushing kisses against his brow as they listen. Arthur knows it’s not real, and that Eames is just trying to make him feel better, but he can’t resist sinking onto Eames’ warmth and snuggling back. In two days, Eames will be gone, and Arthur will be left to pick up the broken pieces of his life alone.

 

Arthur wakes slowly when Eames shakes him gently. Everyone else has left, but there are two pens and a few pieces of paper on the coffee table. Arthur groans.

 

“Is she serious?”

 

Eames chuckles. “She said Santa won’t know what you want unless you leave him a letter.”

 

“She’s insane. And don’t laugh; you have to do one, too.” Arthur says, not quite ready to be separated from Eames’ warmth.

 

”I hope you’re not expecting much from Santa, darling. Committing a federal offense definitely puts you on the naughty list.”

 

“Ugh, don’t remind me. Come on,” Arthur hauls himself up, tugging on Eames’ hand. “You grab the stationary and I’ll grab the wine. I’m going to need some fortitude if I’m going to do this.”

 

They end up in the loft, looking down over the library. It’s a little dusty, but it’s warm and secluded, and Arthur thinks he may not want to ever leave.

 

“How do you spell ‘Motukawaiti’?” Eames asks, intent on his list.

 

“What the hell are you putting on there?” Arthur asks, trying to look at Eames’ list.

 

Eames leans away, shielding his paper. “Never you mind. My wishlist is between me and Santa.”

 

“You’re just asking for ridiculous things, aren’t you?”

 

“Nothing is ridiculous when it comes to magic!” Eames declares, gasping when Arthur rips the paper out of his hands. “Have you no shame, sir?”

 

“None,” Arthur agrees, skimming over the list. “I’m pretty sure owning a komodo dragon is illegal.”

 

“Magic, Arthur. You have to believe.”

 

“And a few of these aren’t physically possible. Or they shouldn’t be.”

 

“Believe,” Eames whispers.

 

“You’re ridiculous.” Arthur shakes his head, smiling.

 

“You have lovely dimples, do you know that?”

 

Arthur smiles wider. “I’ve heard it said once or twice.”

 

Eames’ hand darts out, but Arthur anticipates the move and holds his letter over the side of the couch and out of Eames’ reach.

 

“Fair is fair, darling, let me see.” He gets on his knees to lean over Arthur.

 

Arthur grunts when Eames falls on him, but keeps hold of the letter, laughing when Eames still can’t reach it, even when he’s practically in Arthur’s lap, and oh, Eames is practically in Arthur’s lap.

 

Eames seems to realize it the same time Arthur does, and gazes down at him with hooded eyes. Eames licks his lips and Arthur tracks the movement, curling his free hand in Eames’ shirt. He pulls a little, and Eames falls into him, mouth parting to capture Arthur’s in a searing kiss. It’s warm, and wet, and Arthur lets out a little whine, dropping the letter and shoving his hands up under Eames’ shirt where the skin is smooth and hot, and Arthur can’t touch enough of it to satisfy his curiosity. Eames holds the back of his head, tilting Arthur’s face up so he can kiss and bite at Arthur’s mouth while he grinds down on him.

 

Arthur arches up at the friction, his foot connecting with his empty wine glass and sending it thudding to the hardwood. The noise is enough to startle Eames, and he pulls back, blinking wide eyes at Arthur before scrambling off him. Eames wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, the other hand carding through his hair while he paces the small room.

 

“That wasn’t , um. Jesus, that shouldn’t have happened.” He rasps, face red and lips swollen. There’s a visible bulge in his pants, and Arthur has to force himself to look away.

 

“Oh,” Arthur says, leaning forward to pick up the glass to hide his disappointment. 

 

“I just, we aren’t,” Eames stops and visibly stills himself. “I apologize. That wasn’t part of our agreement, and there was no audience to perform for. I should never have-”

 

“It’s fine, forget it.” Arthur snaps. Sure, they didn’t plan on it, but does Eames have to act like kissing him is such an unforgivable act?

 

“I think it’s best if we keep things professional from here on out. Agreed?” Eames gives him a tight smile.

 

“No problem. Consider it forgotten.” He says, collecting the stationary and tapping the sheets together.

 

“Arthur,”

 

“I said forget it.” Arthur says, voice hard.

 

“Right.” Eames’ voice is soft and pained, and Arthur closes his eyes until he hears Eames’ steps retreating down the stairs.


	8. Chapter 8

Christmas morning dawns bright and cold, and Arthur’s up before the others, having spent most of the night lying awake listening to Eames’ soft snores above him. He’s well aware of the fact that Eames is here under duress, but Arthur also knows he wasn’t faking it last night when he was frotting against Arthur like a teenager late for curfew. Eames had wanted him, that much is clear, and it stings that Eames rejected him anyway. And sure, there was alcohol involved, but splitting a bottle of wine after eating a large, carb-loaded dinner, isn’t enough to make either of them question their judgement. 

 

Arthur’s heating the waffle iron, batter made, and toppings set, when the others start to trickle in.

 

“Oh, Arthur, what a nice surprise!” Katherine kisses him on the cheek.

 

“Merry Christmas, Mom.” Arthur smiles.

 

Dom and Rachel shuffle in, followed closely by Richard, still in his pajamas and yawning loudly. They pour themselves coffee and settle at the table while Arthur doles out fresh waffles. Caroline walks in, already dressed, and pulls the clamato out of the fridge. She’s adding a healthy dose of vodka when Eames slinks in, head down and shoulders hunched.

 

“Can I have one, too?” Arthur asks Caroline, stolidly ignoring Eames.

 

“It’s it a little early for that?” Katherine asks, picking up the carafe of orange juice.

 

Caroline scoffs, adding more vodka. “For who? If we have to spend another full day trapped with you yahoos, we’re going to need it.”

 

“Charming, Mother.”

 

“You’re still my favourite.” Caroline tells Arthur in a stage whisper.

 

Arthur takes the drink she offers and goes to sit next to Eames. If Eames wants to feel guilty and shamed by what happened, let him. Days like this are why God invented alcohol.

 

Breakfast is a quiet affair, and once it’s done, Katherine jumps back into her role as their commander. She sets Dom and Rachel cleaning up breakfast, and Richard chopping firewood. She turns to Caroline, who is on her third bloody Mary, and rolls her eyes.

 

“Arthur, Eames, why don’t you two go for a walk? Have some quiet time together?”

 

Arthur nearly chokes on his drink and Eames stiffens beside him. “No, that’s fine, I can help in here.”

 

“Nonsense, dear, there’s nothing for you to do. And since you made us all such a special breakfast, you deserve a little free time. Now, scoot! Get out from underfoot!” Katherine shoos them from the table.

 

“Are you feeling okay?” Arthur frowns. His mother is just about the last person he’d expect to suggest he spend alone time with another man.

 

“Arthur, go before she changes her mind!” Rachel says, loading the dishwasher.

 

“Alright, fine, we’re going,” he mutters. 

 

Eames follows along behind him, accepting the jacket, hat, and gloves Arthur digs out of the closet. He tosses Dom’s boots at him and goes out into the blinding sunshine. Eames shuffles out a minute later, bundled up against the cold, and follows Arthur as he winds his way around the house to the back of the property.

 

The first fifteen minutes are almost painfully silent, and Arthur’s about ready to turn around and go back when Eames clears his throat.

 

“So, what do you do in your spare time? When you’re not kidnapping people, I mean.” He asks, his voice muffled by his scarf.

 

Arthur arches an eyebrow at him, but keeps walking. “Really?”

 

“Yes, really. I’m making polite conversation; play along.”

 

Arthur huffs. “Fine. I paint.”

 

Eames lets the information sit for a minute before speaking. “Care to elaborate?”

 

“I can’t believe we’re doing this. Okay, um. Post-expressionism, mostly, which is influenced by expressionism, but rejects its aesthetic. It’s-”

 

“I know what it is, Arthur.” Eames tells him, drily. “So are you more of a Gaugin, or a Seurat?”

 

“More Alice Neel, actually.” Arthur admits.

 

Eames hums appreciatively. “I like Alice Neel.”

 

“Now you tell me something.” Arthur prompts.

 

“I don’t really have much free time these days,” Eames sighs. “The truth is I hate my job. I’m really only in it for the security it will provide me in the future. It’s dreadfully boring, and I loathe dealing with people who wouldn’t know arbitrage from their own asshole.”

 

Arthur laughs. “Then why do you do it?”

 

“Pays the bills. Or, it will, soon.” Eames says, distractedly.

 

“Wait, I thought you said you grew up well-off.”

 

“No, darling, you said that. You really shouldn’t jump to conclusions about people like that.” Eames scolds, mildly.

 

“Why didn’t you correct me, then?”

 

“Because you were kidnapping me, Arthur. For all I knew, you were only keeping me alive for ransom.”

 

“But you don’t have any money.” Arthur points out.

 

“I have money, I’m not a pauper.”

 

“But not enough for ransom?” Arthur gives him a tentative smile.

 

“Not yet. Give me six months, though, and we’ll be golden.”

 

They’re following the curve of the pond, and Arthur steps over the bank and onto the ice, shuffling his feet to keep his balance.

 

Eames watches him slide in a small circle before continuing. “Look, I want to apologize for last night.”

 

Arthur’s toe catches on a rough patch, but he rights himself before he flails too obviously. He very much doesn’t want to talk about this. Anger and shame burn through him at the memory of Eames in his lap, warm and willing, and the standing, distant and cold like he was horrified at his behaviour. “Don’t worry about it, like you said, it was a mistake.”

 

“Arthur, I just. Would come off the ice, please? You don’t know if it’s safe.”

 

“Of course it’s safe,” Arthur jumps on the ice, slipping a little on the landing. “See, didn’t even crack.”

 

“What the hell are you doing?” Eames demands, his face pale and his eyes wide.

 

Arthur shrugs, feeling mean and not caring one bit. “What does it matter? If I go through the ice, your problems are solved, right?”

 

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Eames demands. “Get up here.”

 

“No,” Arthur smiles and slides further away.

 

“You little shite. You’re being a child.”

 

“Why, because I’m agreeing with you?”

 

Eames steps delicately over the bank and onto the ice, wincing in anticipation of a crack. When nothing happens, he starts toward Arthur.

 

“Now listen here, we agreed that we’d keep things professional. Last night was not professional.”

 

“Because you kissed me.” Arthur points out.

 

“Excuse me? You kissed me.” Eames argues, wobbling when his foot slips.

 

“Um, no. You got handsy and crawled in my lap.” Arthur lengthens his slides, pulling further ahead.

 

“It was the wine,” Eames says, teeth clenched. “And you were being contrary.”

 

“Oh, come off it, there wasn’t that much wine. Face it, you wanted something, and you took it. Now you’re freaking out because I’m not a girl.”

 

Eames stops dead. He cocks his head at Arthur in confusion, then bursts out laughing. “Oh, sweetheart, you are not my first rodeo. That’s cute, though.”

 

Arthur glares while Eames peels off a glove to wipe his eyes.

 

“You still kissed me first.” Arthur says and turns to slide away. When he glances back, Eames is right behind him and gaining ground. Soon, they’re neck and neck, nearing the far end of the pond. Arthur puts on a burst of speed and pulls ahead.

 

“You’re such a brat!” Eames huffs.

 

“You still kissed me first.” Arthur calls. 

 

“It was the wine,” Eames says, grabbing onto Arthur’s coat tails to slow him down. “It didn’t mean anything.”

 

“Right, of course not. That’s why you freaked out.” Arthur leans forward, trying to dislodge Eames.

 

“You pointed a gun at me!”

 

“Oh my god, let it go already!” Arthur yells and Eames makes a startled noise, grasping at Arthur’s coat as he loses his footing.

 

Arthur pulls back, but Eames is too heavy, and is headed straight for a snowbank. Eames grunts when he lands, then again when Arthur falls on top of him. They’re both panting, but there’s laughter in Eames eyes when his hands grip Arthur’s hips, holding him in place.

 

”It didn’t mean anything.” Eames says, breath fogging between them.

 

Arthur licks his lips. ”Right, of course not.”

 

”Good,” Eames nods. “Neither does this.” 

 

Eames presses up and kisses him, his tongue a welcomed warmth against Arthur’s chilled mouth. Arthur gives as good as he receives, but there’s only so much you can get up to while laying in a snowbank on Christmas Eve. Before long, they’re shivering despite their attempts at friction. 

 

Arthur pulls Eames to his feet with a shake of his head, and Eames kisses him again, lacing their fingers together.

 

“To sell it.” Eames tells him.

 

“Right,” Arthur nods, wishing they weren’t wearing gloves.

 

They’re almost back the the house when Eames slips again, clutching Arthur’s arm to steady himself.

 

“You should get those little spikes for the bottom of your shoes. It might save your ass some bruising.” Arthur tells him.

 

“Well, now you know what to get me next year, darling.” Eames grins.

 

Arthur goes cold all over. There won’t be a next year. There won’t even be a tomorrow after they leave. Hell, for all he knows, he might be in jail by the New Year if Eames doesn’t keep his word. All he has is today, and he’ll be damned if he’s not going to make the most of it.

 


	9. Chapter 9

They drape their wet outerwear over the banister and head to the kitchen for something warm and hopefully alcoholic.

 

“Stop!” Rachel shouts when they get to the doorway.

 

“What?” Arthur freezes, Eames bumping into him.

 

“Mistletoe.” Rachel points above their heads.

 

“You’re not serious.” 

 

“Rachel, they don’t have to,” Katherine says, face pointedly turned in the opposite direction.

 

“You made me kiss Dom an hour ago. It’s only fair,” She argues.

 

“Come on, then. Let’s see whatcha got!” Caroline wobbles on her stool.

 

“Just stop it, all of you,” Katherine snaps.

 

Arthur is fed up. He’s tired of the backhanded comments about his sexuality, and the not-so-backhanded ones, and his mother running hot and cold, and all their expectations. They wanted him to bring someone home, well, he brought Eames. Might as well stick to his plan and make the most of it.

 

He grabs Eames by the back of the neck and kisses him. It’s not the frantic fumbling in the snow, or even the filthy slide of tongues in the loft, this kiss is soft, and slow, and full of promise. It takes a few seconds, but Eames responds in kind, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s waist and backing him into the doorframe. 

 

Distantly, he hears Caroline and Rachel reacting with shouts and lewd suggestions, but all Arthur can concentrate on is Eames. All along the front of him, demanding his attention, and giving as good as he’s getting. Eames.

 

Eames ends the kiss, pecking Arthur on the nose with a smile. Rachel presses a glass of wine into Arthur’s hand before he can move, and he realizes his mother is gone. Rachel gives him a sad smile, and pours a glass for Eames, who has sat himself beside Caroline at the island.

 

Arthur takes over dinner prep and chats companionably with Rachel. He can feel Eames watching him as he moves about the kitchen, even though Eames seems to be concentrating on his poker game with Dom and Caroline. 

 

It’s quickly approaching noon, and dinner is all set to cook, so he goes in search of his mother so they can open presents. He finds her in the master suite, folding laundry.

 

“Mom? I think it’s time for presents,” He says gently. There’s a glass and an empty bottle of wine on the nightstand.

 

“Did you know your father is the only man I’ve ever slept with?” Katherine asks, intent on folding a pair of Richard’s underwear.

 

Arthur stares at her, eyes wide, unsure if he’s supposed to respond to that.

 

“How many men have you been with?” Katherine asks, turning to him. Her eyes are red rimmed. “Probably a lot, right? It’s not like it used to be. It’s a modern world out there where you can boink lots of people. You don’t have to settle on the first one, or only one, for that matter.”

 

The part of Arthur that’s a responsible adult is sending up warning flares about his mother’s behaviour, but the part of him that is perpetually in the child phase has it’s hands pressed over it’s ears, screaming ‘lalalala’. He knows there’s more going on here, and that it needs to be addressed, but this is his mom and he cannot talk to her about this.

 

“Time for presents!” Arthur yells, fleeing the room and not stopping until he’s safely down the stairs.

 

Everyone else is already settled around the tree, and Dom holds out the little book of pictures Arthur brought to show him. All the paintings he’s done over the past year are in there, and Dom’s always been a great supporter of his work.

 

“I really like them,” Dom tells him. “You’ve grown so much over the past few years.”

 

Arthur ducks his head and thanks him, dropping the book on the coffee table. Eames picks it up, moving to the couch as Arthur and Rachel hand out presents. Katherine wanders in, looking a little more stable and pulled together, and sits down beside her husband.

 

Arthur sneaks peeks at Eames’ reactions to the paintings, but his expressions remains frustratingly neutral. He hands Dom his last present sits in front of the fireplace with him.

 

“Have you noticed anything strange about Mom?”

 

Dom squints at him. “You mean more than usual?”

 

“I just had the weirdest conversation with her, and I think she might be having some issues with Dad,” Arthur whispers.

 

Dom looks over at their parents. “Seriously?”

 

“She asked me about being free to ‘boink’ other people.”

 

“Ew.” Dom screws up his face.

 

”I know!”

 

Dom shrugs. “I have no idea, they barely talk to me unless they want me to visit.”

 

Arthur’s distracted by Eames tearing into a present at his mother’s urging, and he has to hand it to Eames, he seems genuinely pleased with the back scrubber he pulls out. 

 

“Darling, we can shower alone now!” Eames beams at him and Arthur can’t help but smiling back. “I mean, we won’t, but we could.”

 

Arthur predictably gets a tie, and Rachel gets a Law Firm Yellow Book that she looks like she wants to toss into the fire. Katherine feigns excitement at the set of wrenches Richard bought her, but it’s a thin veneer of joy and Arthur sure he’s not the only one who sees through it. Richard gets underwear, and not even good ones. Just plain, old, tighty whiteys. Dom at least gets a coffee table book about architecture, but the thing is at least three feet wide and must weigh a ton. Caroline curses them all when she unwraps a mug with ‘#1 Grandma’ scrawled across it in big, red letters, and Arthur has to hide his laughter against Dom’s shoulder.

 

“Oh, there’s one more!” Katherine says, taking the box from Richard and handing it to Arthur.

 

He’s surprised, and a little choked up because his mother has very strict rules on gift giving, and this breaks about three of them. He tears open the paper and takes the top off the white box underneath. 

 

“Oh,” he says, crestfallen at the beautiful leather briefcase for the job he didn’t get. There’s a pitying silence in the room, and Arthur hates every single one of them in that moment.

 

”We just really thought, well...” Katherine trails off, not sounding sorry at all.

 

”Yeah,” Arthur swallows thickly, pressing his lips together.

 

”Look, I don’t know what happened with Mr. Browning the other day,” he father says. “But I think it’s time you get your head out of the clouds.”

 

Arthur looks up, hurt and confused. “What do you mean?”

 

Richard narrows his eyes. ”It’s time to grow up, Arthur. Get focused on a legitimate career. You’re unsettled, you’re unfocused, you need to find something you do really well and stick to it.”

 

”But I have that,” Arthur protests. “That’s what painting is. It’s the only thing I care about; the only thing that makes me feel like me.”

 

”That has nothing to do with what I’m talking about right now,” Richard dismisses. “You can paint, or draw, or  _ color _ , in your spare time. I am talking about your life here.”

 

”So am I!” Arthur insists, his upset working it’s way into anger.

 

”Don’t you want to do something with your life?” Richard demands.

 

”Yes, but-”

 

“Honey, we’re just trying to help,” Katherine tells him.

 

Arthur looks to Eames, mad and embarrassed, and a little bit helpless. Eames clears his throat and stands. 

 

“I believe it’s my turn for the floor,” he says with a smile. ”I’ve seen Arthur’s paintings, and they’re raw, and complex, and expressive. They stir something deep inside that reminds one that there is true beauty in the world. And that beauty comes from Arthur. He brings it out in his art, and if you can’t see that it says more about your humanity than it does his talent.”

 

Arthur’s shocked, as is everyone else in the room if the stunned silence is anything to go by. Just when he thinks Eames can’t surprise him again, he gets down on one knee and pulls a gold signet ring out of his pocket.

 

“Arthur, darling, will you marry me?”

 

Arthur’s so thrilled that for one perfect moment he forgets none of it’s realy. For a fraction of a second he thinks about what a future with Eames could be like, and he shivers. If Eames always looked at him like he’s looking at him right now, Arthur would never want for anything else. 

 

“Yes,” he says, voice hoarse, and the room erupts into chaos.

 

Eames can barely get the ring on his finger before they’re being pulled up and congratulated by Dom and Rachel, Caroline not far behind, and taking full advantage of hugging Eames to cop a feel. Arthur laughs at Eames’ shocked reaction, then turns to his parents. 

 

“We should open some champagne.” Katherine pats him on the cheek and walks away.

 

His father gives him a one armed hug. “At least now we know you won’t starve.”

 

The others follow into the kitchen and Eames comes up behind him, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s waist. But the moment’s been broken and the magic is gone, so Arthur pulls away.

 

“That was a better reaction that I expected. You really, really didn’t have to do that, but thank you,” Arthur tells him.

 

Eames smiles, but it’s a little hollow and strained. ”Well, I figured I could do something else to help you out, at least for a few more hours.”

 

Arthur laughs and rubs a hand over his face. ”I cannot believe you did that.”

 

”I had to shut them up. They’re wrong about you, Arthur, they are,” Eames says, stepping closer and putting a hand on Arthur’s waist.

 

Arthur shivers at the intimate touch. ”I know, but thanks for saying it. Where did you get this ring? It’s amazing.”

 

”Oh, it’s just something I had laying around.” Eames traces the band on Arthur’s finger. 

 

”You, um, about my art.”

 

”I meant every word. You have real talent, darling.”

 

Arthur smiles, his face warming. ”Look, I just want to say that I’m sorry about everything.”

 

”Oh, it hasn’t been so bad. Feel a bit like a Christmas angel doing this for you.” Eames bops him on the nose.

 

”Out of the goodness of your heart?” Arthur teases.

 

”Something like that. Come on, let’s get in there before Caroline drinks all the vodka.”


	10. Chapter 10

Once the stilted celebrations die down, Eames and Richard settle down to a game of chess and Rachel and Caroline disappear upstairs. Arthur knows his siblings and his grandmother are genuinely happy for him, and he feels a little guilty knowing how upset they’re going to be when they find out Arthur and Eames are never going to make it to the altar. 

 

His parents just seem relieved that Arthur’s someone else’s responsibility now. He’s not sure why they’re so determined to see him successful and settled; Dom and Rachel tick all their boxes, and two out of three isn’t bad, right? Why can’t they just leave Arthur alone? He’s the black sheep, and he’s always known it. He doesn’t understand why they’re so offended by it when he’s the one constantly on the outside.

 

His mother seems to have sobered some now that she’s back in her element and conducting the preparations for dinner. Arthur asks if he can help with anything and she hands him a trash bag. He shakes his head, but takes it dutifully and heads out to the garage.

 

Dom startles and nearly drops his beer bottle when Arthur opens the door. He gives Arthur a sheepish smile and holds up a second bottle. 

 

“Are you hiding from our family?” Arthur says with mock consternation. “On Christmas?”

 

“Hey, at least you have Eames to distract you. Mom’s asked me six times why Jenn isn’t here,” Dom pouts.

 

“If you think Eames is saving me from scrutiny, you’re insane.” Arthur scoffs, pulling a camping chair out and setting it beside Dom’s.

 

“Yeah, you’d think they’d be happier. I mean, I’m thrilled for you, Eames is a great guy, and he really loves you.”

 

Arthur chokes on his beer, coughing roughly. 

 

Dom pats him on the back. “Can I tell you something? Only, you have to promise not to tell Mom and Dad.”

 

“Well, you know I tell them everything.” Arthur rolls his eyes, voice tight from coughing.

 

“Jenn left me six months ago.”

 

Arthur stares at him. “Are you serious?”

 

Dom nods, eyes on the floor. “I couldn’t tell them. I mean, I know how they are with you, and I just couldn’t. I didn’t want all that attention.”

 

“Wow, Dom, thanks. It’s okay for them to try and run my life, but not yours. Brotherly love at its finest!” Arthur raises his bottle and drains half of it.

 

“I know, I’m sorry! But you’re used to it, right? I don’t know how to handle all that pressure. Especially since I also kind of sold my company.”

 

Arthur only nearly chokes this time. “What?”

 

Dom looks abashed. “Dad thinks we’re doing really well, and that’s why I was able to pay back the loan they gave me. But really I sold out to a bigger firm.”

 

“But why? You loved your work.”

 

“Do you remember our trip to Vegas a few years ago?” Dom asks, a small smile on his lips.

 

“Yeah,”

 

“Do you remember Mal?”

 

Arthur snorts. “I doubt I’ll ever forget her.” Mal had been a force of nature, a tornado of fun and laughter, and Dom had trailed after her like a puppy from the moment they met. She’d been in Vegas for a conference and they’d run into her at the bar in their hotel.

 

“I’m in love with her,” Dom confesses.

 

“Dom, that was years ago. Who knows where she is now. She could be married with kids.”

 

“She’s in Paris, and she’s single. Well, she was.” Dom grins.

 

“Wait, are you two together? Oh my god. Is that why you sold the company?” Arthur cannot believe that his straight and narrow brother could be capable of throwing away everything he’s worked so hard for, for a chance at love. He’s kind of proud.

 

“I’m leasing my condo and I already have my ticket. No one’s noticed, but the car we came in is a rental and the rest of my luggage is in the trunk. I sold everything else.”

 

“Jesus, Dom. I don’t mean to piss on your parade, but what if it doesn’t work out? You’ll be stuck in France with nothing.”

 

Dom shakes his head, his smile bigger than Arthur’s ever seen it. “I’m not worried at all, Arthur. For the first time in my life I’m 100% certain that this is the right move. I love her so much. It’s ridiculous I know, but I don’t have a choice. If I don’t do this I will regret it for the rest of my life.”

 

“Wow. I just, I don’t know what else to say. Congratulations?” Arthur frowns.

 

Dom laughs. “It’s okay, I know I sound crazy. But look, they have architecture in France, I’ll figure something out. Until then, I’ve got money to keep us alive. Besides, Mal has a good job. She jokes that I’m going to be her kept man.”

 

“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Arthur jokes weakly.

 

“I know, I know. I’m crazy about her, Arthur. I can’t imagine my life without her.”

 

“You literally knew her for 48 hours.” Arthur points out.

 

“Yep. And I knew then, too. I was just too scared to say anything. She was glamorous and so far out of my league, I didn’t think I had a shot.”

 

“I’m pretty sure you thought differently after you slept together.” Arthur shudders, remembering how thin the hotel walls had been.

 

Dom blushes, laughing. “Apparently I made a lasting impression. She looked me up a few months ago when she was in the States and I flew to New York to see her. It was like no time had passed. We just, fit.”

 

“I’m a little jealous,” Arthur admits, peeling the label off his bottle.

 

“What are you talking about? Eames is amazing. He seems to really get you, and I don’t think I’ve seen you smile so much like, ever.”

 

Arthur ducks his head, shame burning through him. “He’s alright.”

 

“He better be more than alright if you’re going to marry him. Seriously, though, Arthur, the way he looks at you? You can’t fake that. I know because I’ve tried.”

 

Arthur gives him a tight smile. “I’m really happy for you, Dom. I hope you know that.”

 

“I do, thanks. Now I just have to tell Mom and Dad.” He blows out a noisy breath.

 

“Oh my god, I’m not going to be worst child for a minute!” Arthur laughs.

 

“I was thinking of telling them at dinner tonight.”

 

“But you’ll ruin Christmas!” Arthur tells him, voice high in a poor imitation of their mother.

 

Dom’s laugh is cut short by a loud crash on the other side of the garage door. Arthur jumps to his feet and hits the door opener. He ducks under the barrier to see Caroline’s car in the ditch halfway down the drive, backed into a copse of trees. He runs to the car just in time to see Eames stumble out of the passenger side. Dom passes him, going to help Caroline out of the wreck.

 

“Where the hell are you going?” Arthur demands, heat beating staccato. “Were you trying to leave?”

 

“I’m fine, darling, thanks for asking.” Eames snaps.

 

“Are you two okay?” Dom asks.

 

“Damn redcoat ruined my getaway.” Caroline grumbles, and Arthur can smell the liquor wafting off her from across the car.

 

“Come on, Grandma, lets get you back inside,” Dom soothes, helping her over the snow.

 

“Don’t call me that!” Caroline complains.

 

Arthur turns back to Eames, who is glaring at him.

 

“Are you okay?” 

 

“Don’t pretend to care, Arthur, you’re no good at it.” Eames slams the door shut and brushes past him.

 

“Eames, wait. I’m sorry.”

 

Eames ignores him, limping a little on his way back to the house.

 

Arthur runs to catch up, pulling him back by the arm. “You’re hurt.”

 

“Arthur, just don’t. I can’t deal with you just now.”

 

“Eames, I said I was sorry! I thought you were trying to leave after you told me you wouldn’t. What the hell was I supposed to think when I find you in a car, headed for the highway.”

 

Eames rounds on him, shoving a finger into Arthur’s chest. “You’re supposed to trust me! I’ve done nothing but cater to your little charade, and if I’d wanted to leave, I would have, we both know that. Instead, I’ve stayed and endure your horrid family and their thousand little knicks at us and our relationship. I’ve bled for you, Arthur, and this is how you repay me? I put a fucking ring on your finger just to see you smile, and you can’t extend even a little good will my way. I gave you my word, and I do not do that lightly. You’re a brat, and I cannot handle another word out of your mouth right now.” 

  
Arthur stands, open mouthed, and chilled to the bone as Eames stalks away and disappears into the house.


	11. Chapter 11

Arthur gives Eames some time before he heads up to their room to get ready for dinner. He pauses before opening the door, steeling himself for Eames’ rage. The room is empty, but he can hear the shower running and the suit Eames was wearing when Arthur kidnapped him is draped over a chair. On the dresser are Arthur’s car keys and one of the confiscated phones. He’s had them the whole time and Arthur didn’t even know. Eames was right, he could have left at anytime and chose to stay.

 

The water shuts, off and Arthur’s eyes go to the partly open bathroom door. He sees Eames climb out of the shower stall in the mirror’s reflection. Eames looks up, his gaze drawn to Arthur’s like a magnet. Arthur swallows thickly and Eames looks away, grabbing a towel from the rack.

 

“I suppose you need in here,” Eames says, sounding tired.

 

“Take your time, I can wait.”

 

“You may as well jump in now, I still have to shave and I’m borrowing your razor.” 

 

Arthur turns away and start to undress. There’s a robe on the back of the door and he sides it on before taking off his pants and underwear.

 

Eames is leaning on the counter when Arthur enters the bathroom. He looks up and when their eyes meet in the mirror a thrill goes through Arthur at the want he sees in Eames’ gaze. Arthur looks down quickly, moving to turn the shower back on. He pauses, thinking about what Eames said outside. There had been opportunities for him to run, and he hadn’t taken them. Instead, he stayed with Arthur, playing along so Arthur could have an easier time. Hell, Eames had even proposed when Arthur’s parents ganged up on him. Eames has been amazing, and Arthur’s been too wrapped up in his own misery to appreciate it. 

 

He wants to say thank you now, and he wants to do it in a way that benefits them both. So he shrugs off his robe and steps into the shower stall, sending Eames a heated look over his shoulder. Eames does not disappoint. He rips off his towel and pounces on Arthur, pressing him back against the tile wall, pulling the door closed behind him.

 

“You’re a brat,” Eames growls against his neck, arms braced on either side of Arthur’s shoulders.

 

“I know,” Arthur gasps, pulling Eames closer by the hips. “Let me apologize for that.”

 

Arthur sucks at Eames’ bottom lip until Eames finally kisses him, deep and wet, and a little angry, biting down when Arthur gets a hand around him.

 

“God, Arthur. You drive me mad.” Eames is pushing into the slick circle of Arthur’s hand, pressing sloppy kisses to whatever part of Arthur’s face he can reach.

 

“I know, I know,” Arthur pants, thrusting his hips into the space between their bodies.

 

Eames grabs the shower gel, stopping Arthur’s strokes long enough to squirt some in his palm and guide him back down, pressing their cocks together and wrapping Arthur’s fingers around them both. Arthur moans, high and loud, and Eames laughs into mouth.

 

“Better?”

 

Arthur nods, his nose bumping Eames chin, then Eames is kissing him again, crowding closer so Arthur’s hand is trapped between them and he’s forced to jerk them in short, quick strokes. 

 

“Fuck, darling,” Eames breathes, thrusting against Arthur.

 

Arthur can’t speak, if he opens his mouth for anything other than more of Eames’ filthy kisses, he’s going to make a fool of himself. He wants this, he realizes. He wants this so badly it scares him. Eames isn’t his, and this isn’t going to change that, but Arthur can’t think about what happens tomorrow. All he can do is squeeze his eyes closed and demand all of Eames’ attention. 

 

His entire world narrows down to this moment. This shower stall with Eames murmuring endearments into his skin, and Arthur wants so much it hurts. He lets out a harsh sob and wraps his other arm around Eames, fingers digging into his ass to keep him close as they grind against each other.

 

Eames curses loudly, teeth scraping over Arthur’s chin as he comes, pressing Arthur into the wall as though if he tries hard enough, he can sink inside him. He lets out a shaky breath and pushes Arthur’s hand away, taking hold of Arthur’s cock and pulling in long, slow strokes. Arthur lets out a shaky moan and Eames chuckles darkly.

 

“That’s it, darling, let me take care of you.”

 

Arthur grips Eames shoulders, squeezing his eyes shut. Eames lips ghost over his face, gentle and warm.

 

“Look at me,” Eames whispers, nipping at his chin. “Arthur, open your eyes.”

 

Arthur’s eyes flutter open and he groans. Eames looks deliciously wrecked, and Arthur knows he did that. His entire body tightens and he whines.

 

“Come on, come for me.”

 

Arthur drops his head back and Eames’ free hand comes up to pet a him, brushing the hair out of his face and trailing over his cheek. It’s intimate and affectionate, and it’s too much to bear. Arthur surges forward, kissing Eames with force and desperation. Eames takes the hint and shoves him back against the wall, his hand tightening until Arthur gasps.

 

“Like this?” Eames asks, jerking him roughly.

 

Arthur toes curl and he nods, leaning his head back again so Eames can bite at his neck. Arthur moans, his breath hitching, and Eames sinks his teeth into Arthur’s shoulder and then he’s coming, rushed and hard, bucking into Eames’ fist and under his mouth, and he’s pretty sure he screams a little.

 

Eames holds him until he’s certain Arthur’s legs will hold his own weight, then he kisses Arthur one last time and slips out of the shower to get dressed. Arthur washes his hair in a daze, soaping up reluctantly and washing the come off his stomach. When he gets out, Eames is tucking his shirt into his pants and Arthur’s suit is laid out across the bed.

 

“This is a much better suit,” Eames tells him, eyes trailing over Arthur’s body.

 

“Robert bought me that to meet his parents.” He regrets the words as soon as their out.

 

Eames face darkens, and he does up his belt with jerky movements.

 

“I’m just going to…” Arthur wanders back into the bathroom to dry off. He brushes his teeth and fights with his hair until Eames takes pity on him and comes in to help.

 

“How do you survive on your own?” He asks, tousling Arthur’s hair artfully.

 

“I don’t bother with all this stuff. It’s all too much trouble.” 

 

“That’s because you’re doing it wrong,” Eames says, dragging him back out into the bedroom. “Get dressed.”

 

The suit is a slim fitted navy three piece with a white shirt. Arthur likes it, but it just feels so constricting and formal. He feels obvious and out of place when he wears it.

 

“Well, the man’s tailor knew what he was doing, at least,” Eames remarks, eyeing the close fit of Arthur slacks.

 

“I tried to tell him they were too tight, but he wouldn’t listen.”

 

“No, darling, he was right. They fit you perfectly.” Eames holds up Arthur’s shirt, slipping it up his arms and over his shoulders, turning Arthur so he can do the buttons up, one by one.

 

Arthur watches Eames’ face as he focuses on working his way up the shirt. Eames looks relaxed enough, but there’s a tightness in his jaw Arthur’s come to realize is a sign of stress. It usually appears when Arthur’s parents are speaking.

 

Eames leaves his collar open, smoothing his hands down Arthur’s chest and carefully tucking the ends of the shirt into the pants. His eyes never leave Arthur’s and when he does up Arthur’s zipper, he crooked front tooth bites into his bottom lip and he grins. The belt is next, and Eames squeezes his waist gently before reaching around him for the vest.

 

Eames dresses him, layer by layer, slowly and with care until he’s standing behind Arthur and fixing his lapels in the mirror.

 

“See, darling? It’s all in how you wear it.” Eames’ voice is soft and low, his hands settling on Arthur’s hips.

 

“I don’t feel like myself. It’s not me.” Arthur stares at himself in the mirror, and while he knows he looks good, it feels like a costume.

 

“It is, it’s just a different version of you. Let the suit be your armour. The Arthur who wears this suit is unflappable. He’s calm and confident, and nothing anyone says can change that.”

 

Arthur squares his shoulders, willing himself to reflect the Arthur Eames is describing. 

 

“That’s it,” Eames croons in his ear. “There he is.”

 

“I don’t know if I like that Arthur.”

 

“You don’t have to like him, you just have to be him. Just for a little while. He’ll protect you.” Eames promises, kissing his neck.

 

Arthur’s eyes flutter. “Is this how you feel in a suit?”

 

Eames blinks and takes a step back. He gives Arthur a strained smile. “Something like that.”

 

“You look good, even without a tie.” 

 

Eames’ smile turns sly. “I liked that tie.”

 

“I was a nice tie,” Arthur agrees, fighting a smile.

 

“Maybe I’ll wear yours.” Eames picks up Arthur’s tie, wrapping it around his fist and pulling it taut. He raises an eyebrow and smirks.

 

A shiver goes through Arthur and he takes the tie out of Eames’ hands, the silk a slippery whisper between them.

 

Eames steps closer again, fixing a strand of Arthur’s hair. “Add it to my wish list for next year, then”

 

Arthur gives a shaky laugh, sobering. His mother calls them for dinner and Eames goes to the door. 

 

“Are you coming?”

 

Arthur nods and turns his back to put the tie away. “I’ll be right there.” 

 

Once Eames is gone, Arthur slumps onto the bed, his hand pressed to the pain in his chest. He curses himself for his stupidity. He’s playing house with the man he kidnapped, and now he’s letting himself fall for him. None of this is real, and somehow Eames keeps making him forget that. No amount of cold kisses in snowbanks or mind-bending orgasms in the shower are going to change the fact that Eames doesn’t belong to him. Arthur stole him and tomorrow this is all going to end. 

  
Arthur’s never had a broken heart, but he imagines it feels a little something like this.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shit hits the fan.

By the time Arthur collects himself and slips into the role of cool and confident Arthur, everyone else is seated at the table. He slides into his chair beside Eames at his father’s end of the table. Caroline and Eames are laughing, heads bend close together while Katherine refills her wine glass. Rachel and Dom are across the table, and Dom’s looking a little green so Arthur gives him a firm nod of encouragement.

 

“Richard, your tie is crooked,” Katherine chides.

 

“You’re the one who tied it,” Richard mocks.

 

“Mom, are you going to make the toast?” Rachel asks before Katherine can respond. 

 

The Christmas toast is a Big Deal to his mother, so Arthur can’t help but worry when Katherine waves of Rachel’s question and starts serving herself instead. Dom takes a large gulp of wine and clears his throat.

 

“Um, I have something to tell you all.”

 

“Actually, Dom, do you mind if I say something first?” Rachel butts in with a nervous smile.

 

Dom tries to argue, but Katherine shushes him.

 

“I dropped out of law school,” Rachel announces happily. “Last semester.”

 

Arthur shares a wide-eyed stare with Dom, then settles back in his chair to watch the fireworks. 

 

“What the hell do you mean you dropped out?” Richard demands, pushing his chair back and standing.

 

“It was sucking out my soul, Dad! I hated it.”

 

“Without consulting us?”

 

“It’s my life,” Rachel argues and Arthur snorts because he knows first hand how well that excuse plays to this particular audience.

 

“It’s my money! Which, by the way, you were happy to take for tuition you didn’t need. Where exactly did that end up, Rachel?” Richard’s face is red, but Arthur figures he’s got at least five minutes before he really gets going and they have to worry about his blood pressure. He sneaks a peak down the table at his mother, who is cutting and eating her turkey serenely.

 

“Okay, look, it’s not like I don’t have a plan. I used the money for a downpayment on a pilates studio.” 

 

“I don’t even know what that is!” Richard yells and Arthur shortens his estimate to two minutes.

 

Eames hands squeezes his thigh under the table and Arthur can see the glee in his eyes when he turns his head. The hand tightens when Katherine starts laughing.

 

“What’s wrong with you?” Richard demands.

 

Katherine pats Rachel on the hand. “I think it’s very creative! Kudos, Rachel!”

 

Dom makes a strangled sound and Arthur presses his lips together. 

 

”What are you talking about? Our daughter has just made a fool out of us!” Richard points across the table at Rachel. “You are not dropping out of school. I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, you’re going to get the money back, then you’re going to re-enroll. Then you will pay me back every cent I gave you.”

 

”Oh, lighten up, Dick.” Katherine rolls her eyes and downs the rest of her wine.

 

”Dick Bottoms!” Eames giggles in Arthur’s ear, hand rubbing up and down Arthur’s leg.

 

“I sold my business and I’m moving to France to be with the woman I love!” Dom blurts, looking surprised by his own voice.

  
  


”Good for you!” Katherine laughs, toasting him with full glass.

 

”For God’s sake, Katherine, what is wrong with you?” Richard demands.

Arthur squeezes Eames’ hand on his leg, bracing himself for what he’s sure is coming. 

 

”What’s wrong with me?” Katherine squints at him. “Well, let me think. I hate the way you moan when you chew your food. Mmm, mmm, mmm,” she rolls her head around, imitating him. “Every damn meal! It’s disgusting! And we never talk about anything important anymore!”

 

”Maybe that’s because we all live in your crazy little fantasy world where the sheets get ironed and no one’s allowed to say anything honest because it might be upsetting!” Richard throws his hands in the air. “You’re the puppet master, Katherine, and I am your little clown! Well, I won’t dance for you anymore!”

 

Katherine laughs. ”You think I’m controlling? You’re the ass who’s forcing his children to become mini versions of yourself. This isn’t  _ my _ world, because if this was my world, I wouldn’t have to think about George Clooney just to get through sex!”

 

The room goes deathly silent as his parents glare at each other. Eames hand is gripping his and Arthur’s concerned for Dom’s wine glass because his hand is white around the stem and it’s going to snap at any moment, he just knows it.

 

”What is happening?” Rachel whispers under her breath.

 

Caroline leans closer to Eames “You know, I’m glad we stayed.”

 

Eames lets out a high pitched wheeze to mask his giggle and Richard throws his napkin down and stomps off. Katherine picks up her glass and what’s left of the bottle of wine and heads in the opposite direction.

 

“So, pilates?” Dom asks Rachel, and they spend the rest of the meal talking about their plans while Arthur sits, shell shocked that none of what just happened had anything to do with him. It’s a foreign feeling of relief, but he likes it.

 

Later, when they stumble back to their room, a little drunk and a little handsy, Eames wraps his arms around Arthur from behind and mouths at his neck. “You know, for a minute down there, I thought you might join in on the share circle and come clean about us.”

 

It should bother him, that Eames is bringing it up, but he’s pleasantly buzzed on wine and Eames’ lips are dragging up and down his neck, and Arthur can’t find it in him to deny himself this.

 

“Are you kidding me? For the first time in my life I wasn’t the craziest one at the table. I may never get that again and I wasn’t giving it up.”

 

Eames laughs against his nape, making him shiver. “I need to piss,” he grunts, pushing Arthur towards the bed.

 

Arthur strips out his jacket and vest, draping them over the chair. He toes off his shoes with a stumble and and climbs on the rail of the bed to grab Eames’ pillow from the upper bunk. A small black box rolls on its side when he lifts the pillow. Arthur frowns at it, his drunk mind unable to figure out the reason for its existence. He grabs the box and drops to the ground.

 

Inside the box is an engagement ring. Shiny and large, the square stone sits high above the band. His first thought is that no one who actually does anything with their hands would ever wear this ring. His mind supplies the picture of a high maintenance socialite who spends her time shopping and getting manicures. Someone who thinks handing over a cheque to a faceless charity once a year makes her a good person. He scoffs. Then the picture in his mind shifts, and Eames is standing beside the woman in his expensive suit and polished shoes. The way he looked before Arthur stole him. Before Arthur fell in love with him.

 

He looks up when Eames open the bathroom door. He feels guilty and caught out, but also angry and hurt.

 

“What is this?” He manages, hoping he’s overthinking this and Eames isn’t really the ring’s owner. 

 

Eames freezes when he sees the box, his face going carefully blank. His eyes flick over Arthur, assessing.

 

Eames doesn’t walk away, but he doesn't come any closer. He looks Arthur in the eyes and shrugs. “I did say you were keeping me from an important meeting.”


	13. Chapter 13

When Arthur wakes up on the couch in the loft Christmas morning, Eames, and Arthur’s car, are gone. He makes up a story about Eames being called back into the city for a work emergency and takes Dom up on his offer of a ride home. His parents don’t even make an appearance at breakfast, and everyone else decides an early exit is the best option.

 

Dom follows Arthur up to his apartment since his flight isn’t until later that night and he has nothing to do but wait. Arthur pours them both a drink and grabs the stack of mail he’s been ignoring all week.

 

“Hey, is everything okay between you and Eames?” Dom asks, sipping his scotch. “You seemed pissed that he left this morning.”

 

Arthur rubs his hands over his face, ready to be done with the whole charade. “No, we um, we had a fight last night. I don’t think things are going to work out between us.”

 

Dom gives him a disbelieving look. “It can’t be any worse than Mom and Dad’s fight last night. Besides, you’re still wearing the ring, so you can’t be  _ that _ mad at him.”

 

Arthur stares at his hand. He’d completely forgot about the ring. Eames’ disappearing act would have be ruined had he asked for it back, so Arthur figures it’s his to keep now.

 

“I wouldn’t get my hopes up. I think both of us were lying to each other about what our expectations were.” Arthur rips open one of the envelopes with more force than necessary, tearing the letter inside in the process. A familiar logo catches his eye when he pieces the paper back together, and he drops onto the couch in shock.

 

“What’s wrong?” Dom asks, taking the letter from him. “What’s the Carnarvon Gallery?”

 

“It’s one of the most prominent galleries in the city. They want to feature some of my work at their New Year’s Eve showing. Holy shit.” 

 

Dom laughs and pats him on the back. “Well, at least you’ve got that going for you. Hey, did you end up finding the book of your paintings before we left?”

 

“What?” Arthur blinks back to reality. “Oh, no, I don’t know what happened to it.”

 

“Are you going to invite Mom and Dad to the gallery show?”

 

“God no,” Arthur shakes his head. “They’ve never supported my art and I’m not giving them an opportunity to pretend like they do now just because it’s getting some attention. I think I need a break from them for a while.”

 

“That’s probably a good idea. Besides, they seem to have some of their own issues to work out. You don’t want to get sucked into that.”

 

“I can’t believe you’re moving to France and escaping all this. I’m so fucking jealous. I kind of hate you right now.” Arthur drops his head onto the back of the couch.

 

Dom laughs. “I know, it’s is great? I am so out of here. You should come visit us once we’re settled. I’m sure Eames can afford the flight, and you’ll want to meet his family before the wedding, right? Paris isn’t that far from London.”

 

“Yeah, right. I’ll get right on planning that trip,” Arthur mutters, closing his eyes.

 

“Arthur, are you okay?”

 

“Yeah,” he musters a smile to placate Dom. “It’s just been a really long couple of days. Why don’t you tell me about Mal and restore my faith in true love?”

 

Dom spends the next two hours laying out his and Mal’s plans for the future, including a wedding, kids, and retirement. Arthur moves from jealous to depressed as Dom goes on and on about his dedication to Mal and how she makes him feel like he can do anything as long as she’s at his side.

 

Arthur doesn’t want Dom’s life, but he wants that feeling of having someone to depend on. He’s never had that, not really, and he thinks maybe he’s missed his chance. He hugs Dom goodbye and watches him drive away, towards a future full of promise and love. Arthur’s smile drops as soon as Dom turns the corner.

  
He goes back upstairs and pulls on a pair of flannel pyjama pants. He puts on some Perry Como and crawls into bed with a bottle of tequila. If he’s going to be alone, he may as well do it in style. He has a stern talk with himself halfway through the bottle and gives himself 24 hours to get over Eames. It can’t be that hard since they were never really together in the first place. Right?


	14. Chapter 14

By seven on New Year’s Eve, Arthur is trying to choose between a deep purple tie and a red and blue bowtie made out of dice. The showing starts in an hour and his suit is pressed and waiting on the bed. He fingers the bowtie, a gift from Ari last year, and tries not to think about Eames telling him to wear his suit as armour. It was good advice, but his success tonight depends too much on him showing his true self. People want to know the artist behind the paintings they’re buying, and hopefully someone will see him as a good investment.

 

He’s putting on the bowtie when his laptop chirps with an incoming skype call. Dom and Mal grin at him from Paris, snow falling behind them through the window of their flat.

 

“Bonjour, Arthur! Bonne fin d’annee!” Dom yells in his terrible attempt at French.

 

“Dom, you don’t need to yell, I can hear you perfectly well,” Arthur tells him, just like he does every time. He can’t help but grin, though, because Dom looks happier than he ever has, and Arthur finds his joy infectious.

 

“Arthur, you look dashing!” Mal grins at him, her dark hair falling in a wave over her shoulder.

 

“That bowtie is great, very you,” Dom agrees.

 

“Thanks, I thought so too,” Arthur preens. “I have to get going soon, the gallery needs me there a little early for pictures.”

 

“Arthur, I’m so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard and it’s finally paying off,” Dom tells him, leaning close to the camera.

 

Arthur ducks his head, a little stunned by the sincerity in Dom’s voice. “Thanks, man. That means a lot.”

 

“Hey, have you talked to Mom and Dad?”

 

“Thankfully, no. They haven’t even called.” 

 

“I talked to Mom last night. Apparently they’ve started couples counselling.”

 

“That great,” Arthur says. “And only thirty years too late.”

 

“Arthur, they’re trying.”

 

“Great, good for them,” Arthur says, smoothing his shirt.

 

“We will need a painting as a wedding present,” Mal pipes up, pushing Dom out of the way so she can show Arthur the ring on her left hand.

 

“What? When did that happen?” 

 

“A few hours ago,” Dom says bashfully. “It’s been January here for a while.”

 

“Congratulations! Fuck, I’m happy for you,” Arthur tells them, choking up a little. He fingers the signet ring he can’t bring himself to take off, and smiles as wide as he can. “I will absolutely paint you something.”

 

“Now, let us know when you and Eames set a date so we can do the same. We don’t want them too close together. Or do we?” Mal asks.

 

“Guys, I told you, Eames and I broke up.” Arthur reminds them, wincing.

 

Dom shakes his head. “And I told you he’ll be back. Arthur, he loves you. No one looks at someone like Eames looks at you, and just walks away.” 

 

“Look, I have to run or I’ll be late. Congrats again, and I’ll let you know how it goes tonight.” Arthur smiles tightly, needing to sign off before he gets upset.

 

“Bonne chance!” Mal calls, waving.

 

“Be proud, little brother,” Dom says and signs off.

 

Arthur walks to the gallery since it’s not far. Ari is waiting at the door, bouncing on her toes to keep warm.

 

“You should have gone inside, it’s freezing out,” Arthur tells her, dragging her into the gallery.

 

“I’m not a fancy pants artist, I didn’t know if I could go in without you.” Ari groans at the warmth inside, her teeth chattering.

 

The gallery owner spots them and waves them over. Arthur meets some of the other artists and they all pose for individual and group photos. His bowtie gets a lot of attention and Ari makes sure they all know she’s responsible. When the photographer asks if Arthur wants a photo of him and his girlfriend he has to clamp his hand over Ari’s mouth to stop her laughter. The photographer apologizes and hands Arthur his card, his cell number written on the back. Ari raises her eyebrows and sips her wine.

 

“Shut up,” Arthur tells her, flushing.

 

“Apparently that ring on your hand isn’t stopping anyone. You’re that desirable, Arthur. They can’t help themselves. By the end of the night you’ll have hot, rich patrons throwing themselves at your feet. You’ll be a kept man, holed up in your apartment, painting away the days and fucking away the nights.”

 

“God, shut up,” Arthur shoves her playfully. “Or at least lower your voice.”

 

Ari laughs and drains her glass. “I really love open bars.”

 

Arthur shakes his head, smiling, and follows her back to the bar. The rest of the night goes well, they wander from piece to piece, Arthur occasionally being pulled away to talk to someone about his work. He’s already thinking it’s the best night of his life when Ari drags him over to the corner with his painting to show him that one’s missing. There’s a small yellow sticker on the info card. Arthur stares at the wall where his painting of Eames used to hang, feeling strangely bereft. 

 

He’d done the painting as part of purging Eames from his system, a form of therapy he did more for himself than anyone else, but that the gallery manager had insisted be part of his selection. The painting featured Eames as Arthur knew him. Not in a suit, hair carefully parted and face composed and closed off, but Eames as he looked in the raw emotion of the shower they shared. Open and vulnerable, accessible in a way that still makes Arthur shiver.

 

The manager’s assistant goes by and Arthur stops her. “Where’s my painting?”

 

“Oh, it sold, congratulations!” She tells him brightly.

 

“No, I know, but the other paintings that sold are still here. Aren’t they supposed to be delivered after the show?”

 

“Usually yes, but the person who bought it was insistent they have it tonight. I just finished packing it up for them to take.” 

 

“Who bought it? Are they still here?” Arthur asks, looking around as though the person will be carting around a boxed up canvas.

 

“No, they loaded it in their van and left. I’m sorry, Arthur, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. It was for sale, wasn’t it?”

 

“Yeah, yes, of course, I just,”  _ Thought I’d have more time with it _ , his mind supplies. “I’d have liked to thank them is all.”

 

She smiles. “Don’t worry, the gallery takes care of all of that.”

 

Arthur watches her walk away and Ari presses a glass of red wine into his hand. 

 

“You okay?”

 

Arthur shrugs and takes a large drink.

 

“Arthur, you know I hate being the voice of reason, but maybe you should count yourself lucky to be rid of him and move on. I mean, you  _ kidnapped _ him,” Ari whispers. “And instead of pressing charges he just disappeared.”

 

“I know, I do, it’s just…” Arthur sighs, suddenly tired.

 

“You banged his brains out and miss him?” Ari guesses.

 

“What? No!”

 

Ari rolls her eyes. “Please, anyone who looked at that painting knew exactly what inspired it.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” Arthur insists, taking another drink.

 

“Uh-huh, sure. Well, it’s over now, and you’re on to bigger and better things,” Ari clinks her glass against Arthur’s. “To a brighter future and people who can afford to buy pretentious art.”

 

“Hey, my paintings aren’t pretentious!” Arthur says, affronted.

 

Ari laughs at him and points to where the gallery manager is waving them over. Two more of his paintings sell that night, and the local arts magazine requests an interview for their next issue. The gallery owner pulls him aside to tell him she wants to meet in the new year to discuss a future showing, and all in all, it really is the best night of his life. Even so, Arthur can’t deny the ache in his chest every time he catches sight of the empty stretch of wall where his Eames used to hang.

 

At midnight he kisses Ari on the cheek and they celebrate with champagne neither of them could afford on their own. He pours her into a cab soon after, and says his goodbyes and thank yous before starting his walk home. His head is pleasantly buzzed and he laughs at the antics of the people still out in the streets. 

 

He’s right outside of his apartment, fishing for his keys when he notices someone behind him. He braces himself for a confrontation and spins around. His drunken feet slips on a patch of ice and the world spins as he falls. He feels the impact when his head hits the sidewalk, and the stars above him blur before his vision fades to black.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late today, everyone! Like has been a bitch this week and there just aren't enough hours in the day for writing fic!

Arthur wakes up with a headache. When he opens his eyes, thick wooden beams crisscross the ceiling and the wall across from where he’s lying is made up of old, red brick archways. He sits up, wincing at the pain in his head, and feels the back of his skull gingerly. There’s a small lump, but no blood so he counts himself lucky and looks around. 

 

The space is one of those large converted warehouses, renovated into a chic luxury apartment and sold for more than Arthur will make in ten years. There are large ornamental rugs on the floor and a tasteful chandelier over a teak dining table. He has no idea who’s apartment this is, but it puts his sad, little loft to shame. Tall windows take up almost the entirety of the front section of the wall and Arthur nearly slides off the couch when he notices his painting of Eames displayed on an easel in the far corner.

 

Someone clears their throat Arthur turns quickly towards the back of the couch, swaying when the motion makes him dizzy. Once his vision clears, Eames is leaning on the far side of the kitchen island, watching him.

 

”What are you doing here?” Arthur croaks.

 

Eames braces his hands on the counter and straightens. ”Well, it is my flat. So the real question is what are  _ you _ doing here?”

 

Arthur thinks back over the evening. The last thing he remembers is searching for his keys outside his building. Then, nothing. 

 

”Did you kidnap me?” he demands.

 

Eames smirks. ”Maybe. We’d be even then, wouldn’t we, petal?”

 

“I didn’t give you a head wound.” Arthur blurts, feeling wrongfooted.

 

Eames chuckles. “You did that to yourself. I didn’t even get to say anything before you took your spill.”

 

“I guess we really are even then.” Arthur looks around at the high-end furniture, the art on the walls, the skyline, then back at the easel in the corner. “You bought my painting.”

 

”Hmm, yes, I did,” Eames says, coming into the sitting area, hands in his pockets.

 

”Why?”

 

The first three buttons of his shirt are undone and Arthur can see his tattoos peaking out, a warm ache starting in his chest.

 

”Mostly because I’m a narcissist. But also because it’s good.”

 

Arthur flushes when Eames catches him staring. ”I guess you weren’t lying when you said you liked my work.”

 

”I guess I wasn’t.”

 

Arthur looks away. ”Just about everything else then?” 

 

”Just about.”

 

Arthur balls his hands into fists, shame and bitterness rushing through him at how easily he’d let himself get tangled up in Eames. ”How’s your fiancé?”

 

”About that. I have some things I need to tell you.” Eames moves around the room to the couch perpendicular to the one Arthur is on.

 

Arthur’s head is pounding, and he’s still a little tipsy. He wants nothing more than to go home and feel sorry for himself. ”Look, you don’t need to explain anything. I kidnapped you, remember?” 

 

”I do, there was a gun,” Eames reminds him as he sits down.

 

Arthur sighs. “Yes, there was a gun. I’m sorry, I will never stop being sorry, okay? What do you want from me?”

 

”I want you to listen. For five whole minutes. No interruptions, not a word. Just sit there and listen to what I have to say. Can you do that, Arthur?” Eames asks, fixing Arthur with a weighted stare.

 

Eames looks earnest and Arthur can’t really say he’s got the high ground here, so he nods carefully. ”I probably owe you that much.”

 

”You don’t owe me anything, darling, but I would be grateful if you’d do this for me.”

 

Arthur sits back on the couch, clasping his hands in front of him. ”Fine, go ahead.”

 

”I’m a thief.” Eames moves to Arthur’s couch and presses his hand over his mouth when Arthur tries to talk. “No, silence, listening, remember? I’m a conman. I was one when you abducted me, I’m one today, and you took me away from the biggest con of my life. My identity, my job, my relationship, all of it was a forge, painstakingly constructed to get me where I needed to be to pull it off. The ring was for a young woman whose father is the owner of a very extensive art collection. The kind where they have to rotate what’s on the walls so they can enjoy it all. The less you know about it the better, the point is, I put almost two years of work into this job and in one insane moment, you nearly ruined everything.”

 

Eames drops his hand from Arthur’s mouth and the look on his face is so pained Arthur wants to reach out to him. He doesn’t, because he needs to know what else Eames is going to say, but it’s a near thing.

 

“I was supposed to propose the day you stole me away. Access to the daughter meant access to the house, which in turn meant access to the art. The plan was to steal the paintings out of the storage vault, end the engagement, and be free and clear by New Year’s Day, richer than I’ve ever dreamed of being. And I have a very good imagination, Arthur, so take that into account when you think about that number.”

 

Eames looks down at his hands, like he’s steeling himself before continuing. “But then you happened,” he says with a small, sad smile. “I wasn’t where I was supposed to be and my intended nearly called the police when I didn’t return. Lucky for you, you’re shite at hiding things and I was able to use one of the confiscated phones to call her and smooth things over. After I left you Christmas morning I picked up my car from the coffee shop, you owe me three hundred and sixteen dollars in parking tickets, by the way, and I went straight to her to finish the job. I looked at their wealth and their extravagance, and I still wanted it all for myself. There’s forty-three million dollars worth of art in that vault, Arthur. I was there, I had the vault code in my mind, the ring in my pocket, and a smile on my face...and all I could think about was you.”

 

Arthur stares at him, dumbfounded by Eames’ confession. People like Arthur don’t know art thieves. And if they do, they certainly don’t have shower sex with them over Christmas at their parent’s cabin.

 

”I couldn’t go through with it. I wanted to, believe me, but I couldn’t.” Eames stares at him expectantly. “You can talk now.”

 

”Why are you telling me this?” Arthur asks and Eames gives him a hesitant smile.

 

”Because you kidnapped me and asked me to be your boyfriend so your parents wouldn’t be so hard on you. Because you reminded me there’s s more to life than being what other people expect you to be. Because I told you my name is Eames and no one knows that name. No one,” Eames emphasizes. “And because you stole me away and made me fall in love with you, and all the wealth in the world means nothing without you by my side.”

 

“So, to be clear,” Arthur says with a frown. “You’re a criminal who lied to me for three days, seduced me, then stole my car. And I’m supposed to forgive you because you say you’re in love with me?”

 

“The car was part of the deal, remember?”

 

“Leaving without telling me wasn’t,” Arthur says, anger creeping into his voice.

 

Eames exhales loudly through his nose “I regret that, I really do, but I had to get back into the city.” 

 

“And you couldn’t have talked to me first?” Arthur demands.

 

“No, I couldn’t!” Eames says, heatedly.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because I knew if I didn’t leave right then, I never would.” Eames’ breathing is heavy and he wipes a hand over his face before continuing. “I knew that if I went after you when you found the ring, I’d tell you everything. It was all I could do not to blurt it all out when I saw the confusion on your face when you asked me about it. Arthur, the last thing I wanted to do was hurt you, but I needed to be in the clear when you found out. I wasn’t going to take the chance that you would get caught up in my affairs.”

 

“And now?”

 

“Now I’m done. I’m out.” Eames shrugs.

 

“For how long?” Arthur asks.

 

“Forever. I don’t want to live like that anymore. I’m not the man I once was, and I’ve known that for a while.”

 

“And I’m just supposed to believe you? You could probably be pulling three different cons right now and I’d have no idea. How am I supposed to trust you?

 

“I thought about that,” Eames tells him, reaching for a notebook on the coffee table at their feet and handing it to Arthur. “And I’ve written them all down. Every last one of my illegal dealings is outlined in here. It’s a wealth of information, and evidence should I go back to my old ways.”

 

Arthur flips open the book, skimming over the pages while his eyes grow wider and wider. “Wow. Um, you did all this?”

 

“I did. But I have no criminal record under my real name. I’m in America legally, and none of what’s in that book can be tied to this flat. It’s all yours, Arthur. If you want to turn me in, and throw away what we had, I will understand.” Eames’ words are sure, but Arthur can hear the worry in his tone.

 

Arthur purses his lips, thumbing through the book. He gets to Eames’ last job and closes it, tossing the book back onto the coffee table. “I don’t want it.”

 

“You don’t - darling, it’s insurance.” Eames explains.

 

“I know, and I don’t want it. I appreciate it, and I’ll read through it later out of morbid curiosity, but I don’t want a relationship that’s built on blackmail material.”

 

Eames looks away, rubbing his hand over his mouth. “I see.”

 

“You really don’t,” Arthur says, shoving Eames against the arm of the couch and crawling into his lap. “I want you. Just you. I have pretty much since the beginning, but I didn't think it was possible. I don’t want to hold that kind of power over us. How long would it be until you started to resent me for it? And how long until I started to question why you’re still here? It’s a really trusting and open gesture, but I don’t want it.”

 

“So... you don’t want it,” Eames grins up at him, hands steady on Arthur’s waist.

 

“Nope.” Arthur cups Eames’ face in his hands.

 

“And you trust me to stay above board and by your side?”

 

“Is that what you’re promising to do?” Arthur arches an eyebrow.

 

“It is. Arthur, I love you,” Eames tells him seriously. “I want to be better, for you.”

 

“Don’t do it for me, Eames, I don’t deserve that. But if the real Eames is the guy who spent Christmas by my side, holding my hand through my stress, and horrifying my parent’s sensibilities, then I’m in. Because that’s who I fell in love with, and that’s the guy I want to be with.”

 

“That’s as close to the real me as I’ve been in a long time,” Eames says quietly.

 

“Okay, then. I’m in.” Arthur shrugs.

 

“Just like that? You’re not going to make me grovel, or woo you?” Eames asks, skeptically.

 

“Woo me? You’ve seen me at my worst, survived my family, and bought one of my paintings. I’m yours, babe.”

 

Eames grins, pulling Arthur in by the back of the neck to kiss him. 

 

“We get to keep this place, though, right?” Arthur asks before their lips can touch.

 

“Yes, absolutely, we’ll move you in tomorrow,” Eames swears, leaning forward again.

 

“And your cheque for the painting isn’t going to bounce?”

 

Eames gives him an affronted look. “No, of course not.” 

 

“And there’s a bedroom somewhere in this cavern, right?”

 

Eames smiles at him, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s waist once more. “There are three. Mine’s at the back of the flat. And do you know what the best part is?”

 

“What?”

 

“No bunk beds.”

 

Arthur laughs, leaning down to give Eames his kiss. Eames’ lips are warm and soft, and it doesn’t take long for Arthur to get lost in them. He only pushes Eames away when he tries to lay Arthur back on the couch.

 

“Oh, no you don’t,” Arthur says, a hand on Eames’ chest. “We’re a real couple now and I demand a real bed. No more bunk beds, or snowbanks, or bathrooms. I want to be comfortable. And warm,” he adds. “And ruined.”

 

Eames’ grin is predatory as he pushes Arthur to his feet. “I’ll give you a three second head start.”

 

Arthur’s off before Eames finishes speaking. He doesn’t know the layout of the apartment, but actually beating Eames to the bedroom isn’t the point. He laughs when he feels Eames’ hands grab his shirt and before he knows what’s happening, he’s being flipped and tossed over Eames’ shoulder so that he’s face to face with the bulge in Eames’ pants. Arthur fumbles with the zipper and Eames nearly walks them into a wall when Arthur swallows him down. 

 

By the time they make it to the master suite, Arthur’s won the battle and Eames ends up wedging his shoulder against the door jam while Arthur sucks him off. Firm hands are kneading his ass, and Arthur kind of wishes they were already naked so Eames could repay the favour. As soon as Arthur pulls off to catch his breath, he’s being tossed onto the king-sized bed, Eames scrambling up after him.

 

“You,” Eames breathes, his cock jutting out of his open zipper.

 

“Complaining about me already?” Arthur asks, pulling at his own clothes.

 

“God, no.” Eames reaches for his pant legs as soon as Arthur’s got the button undone and he’s left bare and shivering while he tries to get his shirt and jacket of. 

 

Eames is massaging his way up Arthur’s thighs, zeroing in on his cock, and part of Arthur wants to give up and just accept that this is going to happen while they’re both half dressed. It’s not like he hasn’t seen Eames naked before.

 

“Why’d you stop?” Eames asks, frowning.

 

“You distracted me.”

 

Eames grins. “Then allow me to help, darling.”

 

Eames strips him of the remainder of his clothes, slowly removing his own as he watches Arthur lay on the bed and stroke himself. Once Eames is naked, he looks almost shy as he climbs back on the bed and over Arthur.

 

“What do you want?” he asks, kissing Arthur slowly.

 

“You, fucking me. The sooner the better.” 

 

“You don’t want to take things slow this time? We have the rest of our lives to get right to it.”

 

“That sounds great, it really does,” Arthur says, pushing Eames back so he can sit up. “But I’ve literally thought of nothing but you for the past week, and if you don’t get inside me right now, I may explode.”

 

“Oh dear, explode?” Eames mocks with a smile.

 

“I’m serious, Eames. I’ve wanted you to fuck me pretty much since you came to, tied up in my car.”

 

Eames’ eyes narrow and he licks his lips. “Your wish is my command, pet.”

 

“Good,” Arthur says and turns around, looking at Eames over his shoulder. Get going.”

 

Eames lets out a little growl and dives for the side table, grabbing a bottle of lube and a strip of condoms.

 

“Now you’re catching up,” Arthur tells him, swaying his hips back and forth until Eames bites him on one cheek, just the right side of painful.

 

Eames thankfully doesn’t waste any time, and before Arthur can brace himself, a slick finger is easing into the second knuckle. Arthur gasps and clenches against the intrusion, lowering himself to his elbows to ease the strain. Eames doesn’t let him adjust before he’s thrusting the finger in and out quickly.

 

“Alright, kitten?”

 

“Fuck,” Arthur breathes. “Keep going.”

 

A second finger joins the first, twisting on the way back out, and Arthur’s swearing and arching back into it.

 

“Look at you,” Eames says, sliding his fingers back in roughly.

 

Arthur grins at him over his shoulder. “Just wait.”

 

Eames adds a third finger, making Arthur wince, but the pain quickly turns to pleasure and Arthur’s back to demanding more. Eames pulls his fingers out, ripping a condom open with his teeth and sliding it on. He slicks up his cock, and pushes into Arthur without preamble.

 

Arthur claws at the duvet, gasping and feeling like Eames is splitting him in two while he pushes in deeper. Eames’s hand presses Arthur’s chest to the bed as he slides in another inch, and Arthur shouts when Eames skims his prostate.

 

Eames’s chuckle is strained. “Christ, you’re loud.”

 

Arthur swears at him and Eames shoves in the last little bit, curling over Arthur while he adjusts.

 

“It wasn’t a complaint,” he says, drawing back out and thrusting in with twice the force.

 

Arthur cries out, trying to get his arms under him so he can push back into Eames. He scrambles around until his hands connect with the wrought iron headboard and he drags himself up, using the bars to steady himself against Eames’ assault.

 

“Harder,” he croaks, groaning when Eames obeys.

 

Eames’ cock is thick and long, and it’s filling Arthur perfectly. Eames clearly isn’t afraid to put a little force behind his movements, and Arthur loves that he’s going to feel it in the morning. Eames’ hands are tight on his hips, and Arthur spreads his knees a little more, causing Eames to slip out. He presses back in and they both moan at the sensation. Eames does it three more times, prying Arthur’s hands off the headboard so he can turn him over and sink back in on the fourth.

 

“You’re incredible,” Eames tells him, pressing Arthur’s knees to his chest and fucking him in deep, fast thrusts. “I’m never letting you out of this bed.”

 

“I’ll get paint on the sheets,” Arthur says, his breath stuttering as Eames rises higher on his knees and crushes him to the mattress.

 

“I don’t bloody care what you do as long as you stay here with me.”

 

Arthur reaches up to hold Eames’ head, curving his fingers around his neck so he can pull him down for a kiss. It cuts off his air supply, and Eames never stops moving, so by the time they part, Arthur’s head is swimming and he’s incredibly close to coming.

 

He wraps a hand around his cock, jerking it quickly while Eames fucks into him over and over. The breath punches out of him when he comes, Eames groaning as Arthur’s ass flutters around his cock. He fucks Arthur through it, folding him nearly in half as he chases his own orgasm. 

By the time he’s come down, Arthur’s spent and pliant and Eames is practically standing above him and plunging his cock into Arthur while he chants his name. Eames comes with a little gasp, and he stills, cock deep inside Arthur as his body tenses and his eyes squeeze closed.

 

Carefully, he lowers Arthur’s legs, rubbing them to restore blood flow, then stumbles off the bed to dispose of the condom. He brings a warm cloth back from the ensuite bathroom, and gently wipes the come from Arthur’s chest and belly. Arthur hums happily when Eames returns and folds himself into Arthur’s outstretched arms.

 

“We should have done that right at the start,” Arthur says, pressing a kiss to Eames’ forehead.

 

Eames gives a tired laugh. “No, we shouldn’t have.”

 

Arthur closes his eyes, warm and blissed out from the sex and from having Eames here with him, promising to stay.

 

“So I guess next year we have to spend Christmas with your parents.”

 

Eames glares at him. “You're ruining my afterglow, darling.”

 

“Maybe not, then.” Arthur chuckles and presses a kiss to Eames’ head. “I hear Paris is nice for Christmas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who read, left kudos and comments, and cheered me on through this fic! I love doing this every year and I hope you all enjoyed it!


End file.
